I'm Fine
by CrazyWriterChick
Summary: Joanne, of all the Bohemians, was the one they all thought was normal, the one without life threatening issues. But behind the scenes, she struggles with eating disorders, a cheating Maureen, and a developing relationship with a certain film maker. MarkJo
1. Oblivious Maureen

**I'm Fine**

_Chapter 1 - Oblivious Maureen_

**Disclaimer: **RENT belongs to Jonathan Larson, I just borrow it every now and then.

**A/N:** When the idea for this story came to mind, I really wanted to show eating disorders in a true, faithful light, without whitewashing it or candy-coating it in any way. I have always loved Joanne, and I hate that there aren't all that many stories about her. I know that this is a touchy, hard to deal with subject, but I just felt the need to attempt this, and portray a disorder that ruins the lives of thousands of women all the time. If you have any feedback, I would definitely appreciate it. Thanks, and I hope you like the story.

_Dedicated to my own oblivious Maureen._

* * *

Joanne knew all the long that she shouldn't be doing this. She knew that at any given moment, Maureen would come home, and Maureen couldn't know about this. She knew that she was too much of a fighter to accept this as the way life is. She knew that she was strong enough to fight this unceasing urge.

She looked in the mirror and knew that she had gained at least four pounds in the past few weeks. She stared down at the glistening spoon in her hand - over the years, she had come to discover that a spoon handle was the most efficient tool for this task. She was shuddering...it had been nearly a month since last time, and she had thought that just maybe she could stop...

She knelt, shaking, by the toilet and began her morbid work. She stared into the white bowl, at the disgusting mixture floating at the top of the water, hating herself and the terrible concoction of chunks of food and discolored liquids. She sat reflectively, even when her stomach was absolutely empty, still before the toilet. She had always thought beforehand that, when a person forces themselves to vomit, it would be easier than this, that it would take one nice, solid gagging and the whole meal would present itself lovingly to be flushed away. That was not at all the case. Little by little, it made itself back out of the body, purged by the same way it entered. Even for a master at this horrible art form, it took a solid half an hour to forty-five minutes and a sore throat from the constant jabbing to completely rid themselves of a small meal. It was far from the romanticized event she had always imagined it would be...yet still, it provided an undeniable peace and much-needed relief.

Joanne was brushing her teeth thirty-five minutes later when Maureen's voice echoed through the house. "You home, Pookie?" she called from the bedroom, attached to the bathroom.

She spit the toothpaste into the sink, the remnants of the bitter taste expelled. She slapped on an artificial smile as she entered the bedroom and hastened to embrace her girlfriend. "Hey honey," she said affectionately. "How was your audition?"

"It went beautifully!" Maureen answered, ever the drama queen, her big brown eyes gleaming from excitement. "The high G in the song was the tiniest bit shaky, but everything else went perfectly as planned. The panel was just amazed."

"Of course they were," she replied, smiling at her girlfriend's enthusiasm. Maureen pulled her in for a deep kiss, obviously in a good mood, but Joanne's body immediately tensed. What if Maureen tasted the vile, bitter flavor that she could still almost taste? Maureen would find out, and overreact, as usual, and...

"Something wrong, baby?" Maureen asked, pulling away from her uptight girlfriend. "For a minute, you seemed a little...I don't know...but it wasn't right."

Joanne smiled at her reassuringly. Maureen might have chosen acting as a career, but the lawyer could be undeniably more convincing in situations like these. "No, I'm fine, sweetheart – just a little tired, I had a long day at the office."

Joanne felt triumphant as Maureen seemed to buy the story without question, starting to go on about her audition. Maureen was, as usual, oblivious – and for once, it was a good thing. It wasn't that the drama queen was stupid, by any means – she was just too self absorbed to notice anything amiss. If she ever found out, she would be upset, and she would definitely care, but she would never observe it for herself. Joanne was silently thankful for Maureen's oblivion – things were better this way.


	2. At Least I Have Mark

**I'm Fine**

_Chapter 2 - At Least I Have Mark_

**A/N:** Thank you to all of you who reviewed, I really appreciate it. I hope you like this chapter – I'm sorry it took a while for me to update this. I know this fic is supposed to be Joanne-centric, but...I'm such a big Mark fan, I had to put him in here more. Please review!

* * *

* * *

Mark was belting out "Happy Birthday" to Maureen from atop the long table, joined by the rest of the group, who were at least sitting down in chairs. Joanne laughed amid her singing, shaking her head, wondering how on earth they had avoided being kicked out by the owner of the Life Café so far. Every trip to the restaurant they had ever taken together had ended the same way – Mark, singing at the top of his lungs, dancing on a table and all of them drunk as hell before the night was over. The waitress was staring at them, looking as though she wasn't sure how to handle the situation. Joanne smirked – the girl was obviously new.

Maureen had now joined her ex-boyfriend on the table, dancing with him seductively. Joanne rolled her eyes – she had learned that being jealous of Mark was pointless, because Maureen merely loved flaunting her power over him, cruel as it may be, and flirted shamelessly with the boy. The short blonde man was bopping around all over the place, looking absolutely insane, as usual.

"Hey Mark, get the hell off the table so we can eat, idiot," yelled Roger, although his tone was good-natured and joking.

Mark took a bow and jumped off the table, sitting in between Maureen and Collins. The waitress approached, looking severely frightened of the bohemians. "What can I get you all to drink?" she asked nervously.

"Wine and beer," they chanted in unison, laughing at the customary answer. The waitress nodded and inquired as to what they wanted to eat. Each ordered their meal, until it got to Joanne. "I'm not too hungry," she said hesitantly.

"But Pookie, you have to eat! It's my birthday," she pouted. "You wouldn't want to ruin my birthday because I was worried about you being hungry, would you?"

"Maureen, I don't feel like eating anyth..."

"Please?" she implored, her eyes big and questioning.

Joanne hesitated and bitterly ordered a salad. The party went back to conversing, talking about something, but Joanne wasn't paying much attention. She slowly ate the salad, forcing down every bite and feeling it try to come back up. It was a painful battle of wills – her logical side versus the nagging, internal urges she wanted to ignore. She glanced over at her girlfriend, who was drinking shots with Roger, Mimi, and Collins. She looked at Mark, who was filming the scene with an almost sad look on his face. She approached the film maker, tapping him on the shoulder.

"Mark, I really don't feel so great right now, and I'd like to...go lie down...and, well, your place is the closest. Could I..."

"Of course," he interrupted, looking concerned. He fumbled around in his coat pocket for a few minutes before handing her the key. "Do you want me to come with you, make sure you get there all right?"

"No, I'll be fine. Just...don't mention it to Maureen unless she asks. Just bring her to the loft later."

* * *

It was only a salad. 

_Gag._

There's nothing wrong with salads.

_Gag._

Salads are practically calorie, fat, and sugar free...

_There we go..._

"Joanne?"

Mark was standing in the doorway as she wiped the vomit from her mouth. "Mark...I can..."

He was staring at her. "You were making yourself, weren't you?"

She didn't reply, her silence providing a perfectly clear answer. "What the hell are you thinking, Jo?" he asked, his face distorted with mixed anger and what could have been pain. "I mean...you're a beautiful, successful lawyer with one hell of a girlfriend, you have everything going for you! What reason could you possibly have to justify this?"

He stormed out of the bathroom. Joanne flushed the toilet, entering the main room of the loft, where Mark was sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. He looked up at her, and there were tears streaming down his face. "You think I'm overreacting, Joanne," he choked, "but I'm not. You don't see how big a deal this is..."

She sat beside him on the couch, and he continued. "When I was thirteen, my older sister Cindy confessed that she was anorexic. Anybody with common sense could have seen it – she was 17, 5'8, and weighed 105 pounds or less. We tried to help her, but it was so late...she went down to 70 pounds at one point. She had to live in a fucking hospital for four years. She lived, but barely – she hasn't been the same since then." He looked into her big brown eyes, tears welling up in his own blue orbs. "I love you, Joanne," he whispered, a tear rolling down his face. "You're too good for this."

Joanne turned away from him. "Mark...I'm sorry to hear about your sister – I really, really am. But I do not have an eating disorder. It's just a little thing that happens every now and then...I wasn't feeling well. I'm perfectly fine."

Mark sat looking at her, not answering. Then, before she knew what he was doing, he reached over to her and began unbuttoning her shirt. "Mark, what the hell are you do..."

He softly traced her visible ribs with one short, slender finger. "Look at yourself, Joanne," he whispered. "How can you say that you're perfectly fine?"

She was silent a moment, unable to think of a way to justify her actions logically. Mark saw her hesitation and carefully wrapped his small, thin arms around her in a warm, comforting embrace. Joanne closed her eyes as his little hands traced reassuring circles on her back. No matter how sure she was that she didn't have an eating disorder, she would be the first to admit that Mark was a perfect friend at times like these. "Thank you, Mark," she whispered, kissing him softly on the cheek. Mark stroked her hair softly, holding the too thin woman in his arms.

"Does Maureen know?"

She buried her head deeper into his shoulder. "Mark, you know I can't tell her this..."

An empty win bottle flew through the air, barely missing Mark's head as it smashed against the wall. They quickly broke the embrace, staring at the figure in the doorway.

"I can't believe you," Maureen whispered wrathfully, standing rigid. "You – both of you...and on my birthday! What the fuck do you think you're doing? Jesus Christ..."

Mark was staring at the girl, his eyes widening as he realized how the situation appeared. "Oh God, Maureen, I swear it's not what it looks like..."

"Of course not, Mark, it never is," she replied dramatically, as tears of pain and anger welled in her eyes.

Joanne quickly got to her feet, attempting to rebutton her shirt from where Mark had surveyed her lack of body fat earlier. "Please, honeybear, listen to me. I promise that nothing happened, that it really isn't anything like that..."

Maureen was about to stalk out of the loft, but Joanne caught her hands in her own. "Maureen, have I ever lied to you about anything before? Please, baby – trust me. Nothing was happening between Mark and I."

Maureen was staring at her sullenly, although obviously somewhat appeased. Joanne sighed wearily. "Let's go home."

Mark was looking at her with an eyebrow raised, a look of concern still on his face. "Tell her," he whispered as Joanne reached for her purse by the couch. Without a reply, both women left the apartment.

* * *

"Okay, baby. I accept that you weren't doing anything with Mark, and I overreacted. I'm not accusing you. Now, will you please tell me what's going on?" 

Joanne's stomach jumped, Mark's whisper echoing through her mind..._tell her_...and part of her wanted to admit it to Maureen. But – she didn't have an eating disorder, did she? Of course not, she reassured herself. Mark had freaked out, and Maureen's reaction would be at least a dozen times stronger than Mark's. There was no reason to concern Maureen with a nonexistent disorder. Looking Maureen in the eye, she replied, "Well, I can't exactly tell you. It's a...a secret that Mark made me swear I wouldn't tell anybody."

Maureen nodded, although she didn't look thoroughly satisfied with her answer. She sighed, rather melodramatically, and pouted, "I don't know why Marky wouldn't tell me, if it's that important."

Joanne turned away, relieved yet feeling even worse. She had never lied to Maureen before about anything, but she couldn't bring herself to tell her this...

Joanne hated lying. _Oh well, _she thought bitterly, _at least I have Mark to go to..._


	3. That's What They All Say

**I'm Fine**

_Chapter 3 - That's What They All Say_

This chapter is very Mark-ish as well...what can I say, I'm obsessed. Please tell me what you think of the direction the story is going in so far – I really appreciate it. I'm sorry I've been unfaithful with my updates, but I've been super busy lately. A new chapter should be up fairly soon...please review! Lotsa love.

* * *

* * *

Joanne looked up from her work, smiling at her faithful assistant. "What do you need, Steve?"

"This was just faxed here from the courthouse – it's about the Bennett case," he replied, handing her several important looking documents. "Watson's attorney also called and wanted you to call him back."

"Sure thing," she replied, picking up the phone to return the call.

"Joanne, someone else called while you were on lunch break. Wouldn't leave a name or number, he just said he would call you back later."

Her eyebrow shot up. "That's strange."

"And by later, he apparently meant every ten minutes," continued Steve, looking amused. "He's holding on line two right now."

Joanne looked at the phone, slightly bemused, as Steve went back to his desk. She connected to the second line, and answered automatically, "Joanne Jefferson speaking."

"Joanne!" came a young man's high pitched, nervous voice. "I've been trying to get in touch with you for about an hour."

She was listening to the voice with a scrutinizing expression, trying to analyze it before the voice's identity dawned on her. "Mark?"

"Umm...yeah, it's me. I guess I should have said that..." Just from listening to him, Joanne could see that embarrassed, nervous half-grin he always donned at moments like these. It was just a cute expression.

_What?_

"Jo – are you there?" he asked, and she became aware that he had been talking for the past minute or so.

"Yes – I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I was just apologizing for the way I handled things last night – I didn't even give you a chance or explain things or anything, I just jumped to conclusions. It just...brought back memories, you know? So I wondered if maybe we could continue discussing it..."

"Mark, I'm not so sure that..."

"...tonight over dinner?"

The question seemed abrupt and indescribably awkward, lurking in the moments of ensuing silence.

"Mark, I..." She didn't complete the sentence. She hated going out to eat – it always resulted in binging and purging...

"I won't make you order anything, Joanne," he replied quietly, reading her thoughts all too well. "And I swear I won't lecture you, either. I just want to talk. And if we're in a public place, I'm far less likely to freak out and overreact again." He paused. "So..."

She took a deep breath. "6 o'clock at the Life Café, then."

* * *

Mark was waiting in the lobby of the restaurant when she arrived. He looked nicer than usual – he was almost dressed up in khaki pants, a button down green shirt, and his two necessary accessories, his scarf and his camera. He hastened to her side and met her with a warm, if a little bit awkward, friendly embrace. 

They sat down together, the waiter glaring at Mark but not saying anything – the staff here knew that Joanne was able to pay, at any rate.

"What can I get you two to drink?" asked the waiter in a monotonous, pre-recorded sounding voice.

"I'll just have a tea," Mark replied, and the waiter turned to Joanne, who looked uncomfortable.

"Diet Coke, please," she answered.

"So..." said Mark awkwardly, fidgeting with his napkin. "How is Maureen doing? Where is she tonight?"

"She's ecstatic at the moment – she just landed a role with a nearby theatre. It's not much, but it's the first time she's had a paid acting job since I met her, and I think it's doing some good for her. She's at rehearsal tonight."

Mark beamed. "I'll have to try to come see the show, then," he answered sincerely. "And what about you? How are you...really?"

She shrugged, and a heavy silence hung between them. "You're going to ask about what you saw the other night, aren't you?"

"Only if you want to tell me, Jo. Don't feel obligated to confide it me – I just want it to be comfortable enough between us so that you can tell me if you want to." Those pale blue eyes were searching hers, true concern and affection expressed in them. "I understand why you didn't want to tell Maureen – you were sure that she would either ignore the situation or completely blow it out of proportion, right?"

Joanne laughed quietly. "Exactly. She's either oblivious or melodramatic – no in betweens, no gray areas."

"That's Maureen," he agreed fondly.

Joanne looked at him, a thought occurring to her. "Do you still love her, Mark?"

He looked off past her, lost in his memories before he answered. "What you've got to understand," he said slowly, "is that I was in love with the idea of Maureen. So dramatic, so passionate, so full of life – how could anyone not be attracted to that? From a distance, she was everything I had ever dreamed about. But when you zoom in, you see her flaws. Eventually we couldn't even stand each other's presence. She said I was too weak and feminine about everything, but that was only because she demanded dominance. She had to be in charge, and I was too head over heels to try to take that power from her. Then I came home later than usual one night...I had been filming the streets at midnight...and found her in my bed with a stranger from a bar. That's when I told her to get out."

His eyes met hers again, and it was obvious that his mind was returning to their original subject. "Please, Jo, I don't need details, I'm not asking how it started, just answer me one question, Joanne. Why?"

She was quiet, not meeting his gaze. "I was always overweight as a teenager," she confessed unwillingly. "I hated it, myself. When you're 17 years old and weigh 200 pounds, the world simply isn't kind to you. So I made a New Year's resolution to lose weight. I started skipping a few meals..."

"Seventeen?" he asked hoarsely. "This has been going on for the past ten years, Joanne?"

She fidgeted nervously. "It was all on and off. At one point I went nearly three years without it, eating normally and everything...but then I would gain weight, so it would all start up again. Between my 19th and 21st birthdays, I lost 100 pounds, and I swore I was done. But then I would gain more weight, and I couldn't just leave it there..."

She broke off, looking helplessly at Mark. "Have you ever thought of...I don't know, rehab or counseling or something?"

"But I don't need it, Mark. It's not like I have a real eating disorder or anything.."

"You really believe that, don't you, Joanne?"

"Yes. It's just skipping a few meals and a sensitive stomach..."

He put his hand gently on her arm. "Honey – haven't you even heard what you told me? You've been starving yourself and throwing up for the past ten years – how can you say it's not an eating disorder?"

She was quiet. "I guess I almost do know, in a way...I know that something's wrong, but I don't consider it a full-fledged eating disorder, not in any way..."

They were silent for a moment. "I hate not being able help, Joanne," he muttered sadly.

"There's nothing to help – I swear I'm ok," she replied.

He smiled bitterly. "That's what they all say," he sighed.


	4. To The Stage!

**I'm Fine**

_Chapter 4 - To the Stage!_

**A/N:** Finally, a chapter that's a lot more focused on Maureen (as well as Mark, and obviously Joanne, of course)! I'm sorry I tend to drift away from her in the story, even though I do love her dearly, I just can't seem to focus on her in the world of fan fiction. But here it is.

**Disclaimers: **I do not own Rent. I also do not own the selections from Maureen's play – those are taken from Scott McPherson's play _Marvin's Room, _which I obviously don't own either. (Which, by the way, is a very good play, and has a REALLY good monologue in it, that I'm using for an audition that's coming up soon. Anyway...moving right along.)

* * *

* * *

Joanne sat on the couch of the apartment, brooding a little – they had just eaten lunch. She was contemplating either taking her normal escape route to the bathroom or calling Mark, but caught in between, she sat and did neither. She glanced up at her girlfriend, who was pacing the room nervously.

"Maureen, sit down. It will be all right. You have five hours until your call, anyway..."

"You don't understand!" she snapped. "It's obvious you've never been on stage before – this is _opening night. _You can't just sit down and assume everything will be all right on opening night! What if the show is terrible, and it's all my fault?"

"It won't be," Joanne said soothingly, going to the other woman's side and comfortingly rubbing her back. "You will be perfect, honeybear – the stage is your's. You're going to shine." She kissed Maureen's pale cheek lightly. "I love you, Maureen."

Maureen puts her hands on the other woman's hips and pulled her into a deep kiss. "I love you too, pookie," she said, laying her head on Joanne's shoulder. "Even if you collarbone is poking into my eye," she added playfully.

Joanne instantly pulled away, pulling her shirt up protectively over her protruding bones. "Pookie, you don't have to get all defensive," Maureen whined at Joanne's quick withdrawal. "I was just playing..."

"I know, I know..." she replied, but she was preoccupied. Maureen's comment, harmless as it might have been, made her instantly self-conscious. It seemed strange that she should take it badly, seeing as visible bones had been a source of constant inspiration to her distorted mind for years...but there was something about someone distinctly pointing it out that made something snap inside her.

She forced on a plastered smile. "So, how does your monologue in the second act start, again?"

Maureen rolled her eyes. "You're going to make me even more nervous," she smiled, but it was obvious that she loved being asked to perform. She cleared her throat and her expression immediately changed. "_You know, they'd have that last picnic, down by the river? Clarence went swimming, and everyone's watching him_..."

* * *

"Excuse me, madame, but I need to get to my seat," came a priggish, deep, and obviously put-on voice. 

Joanne looked up from her playbill and grinned, jumping up to hug Mark. Roger, Mimi and Collins all filed into the row of seats past her, and Mark sat down beside Joanne. "So...how's the play, anyway?"

Joanne shrugged. "No idea. Maureen strictly forbade me from coming to any of the rehearsals...she said it would ruin the illusion if I saw it before opening night." She rolled her eyes at Maureen's drama. "But honestly, Maureen has just poured herself into this nothing before...even more than she did her protest that time. She has actually committed to something and worked and worked for it...I'm so proud of her. I have one of her monologues practically memorized by now..."

Mark was smiling. "I'm glad she's doing well," he said.

"She'll be so glad that you all came to see her," she replied. "But Mark..." she continued, somewhat more seriously, "theatre tickets aren't all that cheap..."

"Joanne, you always pay for everything, it's fine. We managed it, so don't worry about us..."

"Where'd you get the money?"

Mark hesitated. "Well, Collins chipped in some for us...and I sold a little footage..."

"And you won't be eating for a few weeks because of it?"

Mark smiled somewhat sheepishly. "Something like that..."

She rolled her eyes and grabbed two twenty dollar bills from her purse. "That should almost cover it. Just tell me if you need more, Mark. Honestly...I want to make sure you boys are all right."

He took the money quickly, abandoning pretenses. "Well...what about you, Jo? How have you been lately?"

She shrugged. "I'm all right, I suppose...today was a little bad...Maureen...well, she showed her usual tact..."

"Or lack thereof," he interjected knowingly. "Go on."

"And I almost...but...I didn't."

"Good." He was silent for a few moments. "But you have lately, haven't you? That you haven't mentioned to me..."

She shook her head, knowing that guilt was flooding her eyes even as she denied it. "Well...once or twice," she admitted.

"I know," he said, looking a little disappointed. "I know, Joanne."

She didn't meet his gaze. The lights dimmed, and the curtain went up slowly.

The lights on the stage were somewhat dim, near the end of the play, as Maureen's character, Bessie, a woman dying of cancer, sat in a chair across the table from her on stage sister, Lee, confiding in her about the boyfriend she once had. "Clarence went swimming, and everyone's watching him, and everyone's there..."

Joanne felt tears run down her face as the character continued. "Then he dunks under the water. He pops up again, and he's laughing even harder and dives again and he doesn't come up, and he doesn't come up...and he...he doesn't come up..."

When the curtain closed at the end, and Maureen came out for her final bow as the audience roared its approval. Tears were streaming down her beautiful face, and her big brown eyes were captured by a look of pure and total bliss.

Joanne threw herself into Maureen's arms as the diva emerged from the cast door. "Honeybear...I had no idea that..." She was speechless, unable to convey what she meant. Then she looked at her sparkling girlfriend. "You told me that you had a minor role," she said condemningly. "What the hell, Maureen? The star of the show!"

Maureen grinned, that same rapturous look still on her face. "I wanted it to be a surprise," she smiled.

The bohemians were crowded around their star, Mimi and Roger hand in hand, Mark behind his camera, and Collins carrying a large bouquet of flowers for Maureen.

"To the Life Café, on me," announced Collins happily, "in honor of Maureen's Tony-worthy performance." He took her be the shoulders and smiled down at his former room mate. "You were beautiful up there, Mo," he said softly. "Angel would have been so proud of you."

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she threw her arms around him. "Thank you, Collins...and Roger, Mimi, Mark...thank you for coming to see me..."

Joanne wrapped her arm around Maureen's waist as she kissed her softly. "I love you," she whispered.

She felt herself flinch as Maureen's hands rested on her obviously prominent hipbones, but the actress didn't notice. "I love you too," she said, pulling her into a tight embrace.

Mark was behind his camera, surveying the scene with an almost sad look on his usually quirky face. He zoomed in silently on Joanne, speaking a quiet narration. "Joanne Jefferson, lawyer and very successful woman...zoom in on her bones, and the way they gracefully sit beneath too thin skin..." He sadly filmed her thin arms and collarbone, and felt himself tilt the camera up to her face, laughing and full of happiness. "I'm worried about her," he muttered into the camera. "And I think..." He trailed off, and shut off the camera as he followed them down the street to the Café.


	5. She Cheated

**I'm Fine**

_Chapter 5 - She Cheated _

**A/N:** Well, here's Chapter 5, and this was possibly the fastest I've ever updated this story. Hope you all enjoy and please review!

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* * *

"But honeybear, you haven't been home all weekend...I miss you."

"I miss you too, pookie," came Maureen's voice from the phone's receiver. "And I swear that this is the last night I'll be out this late. It's just my friend Allison – you know Alli, the girl that plays Lee in the show? I promised her we'd run through our scenes again, because last Friday, all our scenes seemed to completely fall apart. We _have _to make it perfect, Joanne – you understand, don't you?"

"Of course, Maureen, but..."

"Ok, baby, I'll see you tomorrow! Love you," and the phone clicked as Maureen hung up.

Joanne sighed, looking around the empty apartment woefully, staring at the romantic candlelight dinner she had painstakingly prepared – all to go to waste, now. She shrugged, discouraged, and began to pour the pasta and sauce into Tupperware dishes, deciding not to eat any of it now. She turned on some music and felt herself relax a little to the sound of a melancholy, unknown voice.

She moodily opened the freezer and pulled out a stash of rocky road ice cream – it had always been her favorite. She got a spoon out of the drawer and began to eat it straight from the carton. She knew that this would make her sick, that she shouldn't – but Maureen kept blowing her off for her new-found work and co-workers, and the chocolate was just so damn appealing...a few bites couldn't hurt...

Thirty minutes and a half-gallon of ice cream later, she was in tears. "What the hell am I thinking?" she asked the empty room violently, running to the bathroom, the spoon still in hand as it served a much different purpose.

She was coughing now, coughing from the damn spoon hitting the back of her throat one too many times, and a few drops of blood could be seen among the vile mess in the toilet. So, next time she would simply have to be more careful with the jabbing of the almost-sharp metal...

She brushed her teeth carefully, spitting out the last remnants of the disgusting taste, then went back into the living room and sat on the couch, shaking slightly. Maureen wouldn't be home until tomorrow night...Mark would probably be asleep by now...there was no one to call, no one to talk to...So she sat there, alone and shivering, not able to even fall asleep.

It was two o'clock in the morning when she heard a disturbance outside the door, someone fumbling with keys, and the sound of drunken laughs. In burst Maureen, heavily intoxicated, with an equally drunk woman in her arms – Alli from the play. Their hands were roaming all over each other's bodies as their lips met in a passionate and lustful kiss, both completely oblivious to Joanne's presence until she spoke, her voice quivering.

"Hello, Maureen," she said, shaking with pain and rage.

"Jo..." she said, her voice slurred and indistinct, "what're you doing 'ere?"

"I live here," she answered, her voice stoic. "This is my apartment. Get out."

"What?"

"Get out of my apartment or I'll call the cops."

"But..."

"Leave."

Maureen and the girl in her arms tripped out the door, neither aware of what was going on...

Joanne collapsed on the floor of the apartment, sobbing. Maureen abandoning her for her work was bad enough, but this...this she couldn't handle.

Taking Maureen's keys from where they were left in the door, she pocketed the keys and went down to her car, needing to escape...

* * *

She knocked timidly on the door, and Mark appeared straight out of bed, rubbing his eyes and putting on his glasses. "Jo?" he asked groggily. He was clad in a rumpled, tight t-shirt and a loose pair of lounge pants. 

"Hi," she replied nervously. "Sorry to come over so late and all, but..."

"Don't worry about it," he said, opening the door more to allow her in to he dark apartment. "Come on in."

She followed him inside, and he hastily turned on a lamp and sat down beside her on the couch. "Umm...where's Roger?" she asked uncomfortably.

"He's at Mimi's," he replied, looking at her. "What's wrong, Jo? I mean, you don't usually come over in the middle of the night...not that I mind, but..."

"She's cheating on me, Mark," she replied, her blank mask disappearing as a tear began to running down her face. "She told me that she had to work late, that they had to run some scenes before the show tomorrow, and she comes home drunk, all over her, coming home to my apartment to sleep with her..." Joanne was babbling now, sobbing into Mark's shoulder, telling all about her own eating troubles of the night, and how Maureen and Alli had burst into the apartment...

Mark held her, rocking her back and forth, comfortingly rubbing her back and whispering soothing nothings into her ear. "It'll be all right," he whispered, feeling helpless as the woman sobbed in his arms. "I promise...you can make it through this..."

He moved with her gently, whispering to her and comforting her until her weeping subsided, and eventually she fell into a fitful sleep in arms. He gently continued his soft ministrations, gently caressing her hair and face as she slept, savoring the sweet warmth of the woman in his arms. He hesitated slightly as she shifted in her sleep, then he tenderly kissed her forehead.

Looking down at her, he saw a breeze of a smile grace her face. "Mark," she whispered softly in her sleep. Mark stared down at her, obviously not expecting her reaction. He smiled, closing his eyes, then stood up and picked up, trying not to wake her as he carried her into his bedroom and set her on his bed. He sat down on the floor beside the bed, preparing to spend the night on the cold floor, when her soft voice floated through the air.

"Mark?" she asked, her voice full of sleep.

"Yes?" he replied, instantly at her side.

"Will you sleep up here with me?" she asked, her expression almost childlike in the dark.

His voice refused to work at her request, so he merely slipped under the blanket beside her, and her arms instantly wrapped around him in a loose embrace. "Thanks, Mark," she murmured as she began to drift back into sleep, barely awake at all. "Love you."

He closed his eyes, kissing her cheek fondly. "Goodnight," he whispered.

* * *

**

* * *

A/N: Aww...Joanne/Mark fluff – I just couldn't resist. Please review! **


	6. Who Do I Think I'm Fooling?

**I'm Fine**

_Chapter 6 – Who Do I Think I'm Fooling?_

**A/N: **Well, I decided to up the rating of this story to M (R). Nothing is really R-worthy in this chapter, but things will get there pretty soon, so I thought I'd go on and change it. Thanks and please review!

* * *

* * *

Joanne was greeted warmly by the smell of coffee the next morning. She rolled around smilingly, wondering why Maureen had gotten up before she had...She opened her eyes and glanced around, her surroundings quickly reminding her of the previous night's events. She slowly sat up, rubbing her face and trying in vain to take away her memories of Maureen with Ally...

She adjusted her wrinkled clothes from the night before walking into the kitchen where she joined Mark.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, handing her a cup of steaming coffee.

"Been better," she replied, gratefully sipping down the hot liquid. "What time is it?"

"10 o'clock," he replied.

"I'm sorry I barged in like this, Mark," she said, not quite meeting his eyes. "I just needed to get away from it all...you know?"

"I know, Joanne. Don't worry about it."

She smiled briefly. "I really do appreciate it. But Mark...honestly, I'm not entirely sure that I'm..."

"That you're not ready to go back to your apartment yet?"

She grinned sheepishly. "I hate to ask it, but can I stay here? It will only be a few days, tops..."

"You don't have to ask, Jo. Of course you can."

"Thank you," she said, grateful at his compassion. "Oh and Mark, can I use your shower?"

He tossed her a towel. "Go ahead."

* * *

"Umm...Mark?" 

Mark looked up from his camera, his eyes instantly widening and his jaw going slightly slack. Standing in the doorway of his bedroom was Joanne, clad only in a maroon towel, small beads of water still sparkling on her shoulders, her arms, her thighs...

"...could I borrow some clothes?"

"O...of course you can," he stammered, blushing a deep crimson. He turned away quickly, trying to regain his composure. She was a beautiful woman, that was for sure. "He fumbled around in his drawers, searching for his smallest articles of clothing and handed her a striped button down shirt, a pair of his jeans, and a belt.

"These will probably be huge on you," he said, staring intently at a crack in the ceiling as he handed her the clothes.

"Thanks...I can make do," she answered, taking the pile and darting out of sight.

He stood still for a moment, unable to move until his room was once more invaded, this time by Roger, who looked quite confused.

"I come home and the first thing I see is a half-naked Joanne running into the bathroom...what exactly did I miss?"

Mark laughed nervously. "Well, Joanne came over last night...Maureen was cheating on her, Rog, and she needed somewhere to go to get away from it all, so she's staying here for a few days. She just got out of the shower and came in here to borrow some clothes..."

Roger was smirking. "Wow...get a grip, Mark," he said, an eyebrow cocked on his forehead. "You realize that Joanne is a lesbian, don't you?"

"What the fuck do you mean, Roger...I have a perfectly fine grip...It's not like...it's not like I...I mean, of course I know she's a lesbian, what do you mean?"

Roger shook his head. "Jesus, Mark, you always fall for the unattainable ones, don't you?" And with that, he started to go to his room.

"It's not like I have a thing for Joanne, Roger...she's just a friend..." He shook his head as his room mate disappeared. "Who the hell do I think I'm fooling?"

* * *

Joanne sat uncomfortably on the old couch, clad in Mark's loose clothes. Mark was out filming, as usual, and Roger could be heard in his room, strumming chords on his guitar in a gentle, soothing song. She looked around the bare loft, searching for something to take her mind off of Maureen... 

On the table in the middle of the loft was a plain, black notebook. Curious, she picked it up and opened it. The first ten or so pages were written on with black ink. The handwriting was minuscule and cramped – very neat but excited and hurried. Intrigued, Joanne began to read the script of sorts.

_(First shot is a wide view of a graveyard on a cool, autumn day. Pan through the yard, past different graves, until stopping and zooming in on a headstone – close on the name, Laura Lawson. We fade to black, and the words, "Without You" appear on the screen. We fade in to Laura – a young black woman in her mid to late 20s. She is terribly thin, but apart from that, she is stunningly beautiful. Her voice over begins as she...)_

"I should tell you," said Roger, who was standing over her shoulder, "that Mark doesn't let _anybody _read his scripts."

Joanne jumped, putting the notebook down guiltily. "Hello, Roger," she said uncomfortably.

"Hey," he replied, jumping up and sitting on the table. "I hear you're crashing here for a while?"

"If you're all right with that...I don't want to impose on you in any way."

"Of course...it's fine."

An awkward silence filled the air. "So, Mark's writing scripts again? Last I heard, he was shooting improvised scenes."

Roger shrugged. "He usually does. He only starts writing scripts when he's upset about something, or confused. It's his weird form of stress relief or something."

Joanne was biting her lip, staring at the notebook – how recently had he begun it?

As if reading her mind, the songwriter grinned and rolled his eyes. "Go on and check the date."

She quickly picked up the notebook and looked at the inside cover. "January 11, 1991? But that's..."

"Today," Roger said, nodding, his brow slightly furrowed. "He probably woke up at 4 or 5 this morning and wrote it...he's always doing things like that."

"But what would he be upset or confused about?" Joanne mused.

"Well, it could be a million different things," said the guitarist, a slight mischievous gleam entering his green eyes. "Did the main character happen to be a young black woman, with big brown eyes and a small frame, and so on?"

She raised her eyebrows skeptically. "What exactly are you saying, Mr. Davis?"

"That you're a bright, observant woman, Joanne, but for someone so perceptive, you sure are blind to things that are right before your eyes." He hopped down off the table and began walking back to his room. "Not that it's any of my business, of course," he added, with a cheeky grin, before closing himself in his bedroom with his guitar.


	7. That's All I Ask

**I'm Fine**

_Chapter 7 – That's All I Ask_

* * *

"Jo, you have to eat."

"I'm not hungry, Mark."

"Please? We can make or get whatever you like. Anything." His pale blue eyes were pleading, concerned. "Joanne – please eat."

"Mark..." She turned away from him, frustrated. "Why can't you accept that I can't eat right now? I...it's too much to handle now. With Maureen and everything...I just can't do it."

"What do you mean, can't?" he asked, his expression bitter. "You can, you just refuse to."

She sighed. "You don't get it, Mark...if I try to eat right now, I won't be able to stop it, I won't even need to try. It won't stay down. I...I can't help it, Mark." She was looking at him with desperation in her eyes, trying very hard to make him understand. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," he said sadly. "Well, it's not all right, but I get it..." He sighed as they sat across from each other at the table, burying his head in his hands.

She looked at him in his nearly broken-down state, touched by his genuine concern. "Mark – why do you care so much?"

He looked up at her, a little surprised. "Why do I care?" he repeated hoarsely. "God, Joanne, I...you're one of my best friends and I...I...I'm just worried about you." Mark was blushing deeply, before meeting her eyes. "I don't want to see you hurting, Joanne."

She hesitated. "Mark..." she tried to express her emotions, her confused state of mind. "Mark...what did you say we had to eat?"

He blinked, staring at her for a few moments. He hastened up and began searching through the cupboards for something to eat. "Umm...how about soup?"

"Soup sounds wonderful," she lied kindly. Mark began quickly warming up the liquid, and soon a bowl of steaming chicken noodle soup was in front of her, and he was looking at her expectantly.

She bit her lip nervously. "I'm not sure if I can..."

"For me?" he asked pleadingly, his baby blue eyes sad yet hopeful. "Just...one bite at a time, Joanne."

She slowly lifted the spoon to her mouth, drink the warm fluid. Mark was smiling at her encouragingly, practically begging her to take another bite. She continued eating cautiously, hating herself with each bite but knowing she couldn't hurt Mark by refusing the food.

"Speak," came the prerecorded message. A loud beep followed, and Mark and Joanne both looked over at the phone.

"Mark? Marky, babe, pick up the phone. It's Maureen." Joanne's hand began to shake as she put down the spoon into the soup bowl. "Joanne kicked me out...but...I deserved it, Mark, and I need to fix everything. I need to make it up to her, see her, talk to her...She's not at the apartment. Mark, have you seen her?"

Mark was looking at Joanne questioningly.

"I can't talk to her, Mark."

He nodded, understanding.

"Pick up the fucking phone, Mark!"

"Yes Maureen," he said into the receiver. "Umm...no, I haven't seen her."

Joanne inconspicuously picked up the spoon from her soup and walked slowly to the bathroom.

* * *

She was shaking uncontrollably again – her legs wouldn't stay still. This only happened when everything was completely drained from her stomach...She wasn't crying, she wasn't even upset. She was completely numb, yet her legs and arms were ignoring her emotional cool and twitching.

She quickly brushed her teeth and went out of the bathroom. Mark was off of the phone and sitting on the couch, waiting for her. He didn't meet her glance as she walked out of the bathroom and sat beside him.

"Maureen wants to see you," he said, still avoiding her eyes. "She says she's sorry, she still loves you, and she needs to see you."

"I don't want to see her, Mark," she said, looking, sounding and feeling helpless. "I can't do it."

"Just like you couldn't eat," he said bitterly. She was silent. He was still avoiding her glances. "Joanne, I hate seeing people hurt...I've never been able to stand it." His voice was continually getting louder and louder. "It's just like when Roger was going through withdrawal after the drugs...I couldn't stand it. God, Jo, I hate being fucking helpless – I can't stand not being able to do anything at all to help you when that's all I want to do...especially when it's somebody I love as much as you!" He paused, embarrassed by his outburst. "As a friend," he appeased softly, his voice very quietly intense. "Someone I love as much as you...as a friend."

He carefully reached over to her and took her small, shaking hand in his own. "I want to help you, Joanne," he whispered, his eyes brimming over with tears. "Please, for God's sake, let me. Open up to me...please...tell me before this happens again. That's all I ask, that you would come to me."

He wrapped his arms around her, and Joanne felt her defenses breaking away as she rested in his surprisingly strong arms. He was holding her again, whispering that he would always be there for her, and she felt his tears running warmly down her face. She sighed, pushing away from him slightly as she wiped away his tears and gently caressed his soft, pale face. She buried her head in his shoulder, sighing again. "What did I do to deserve you, Mark?" she asked him.

He closed his eyes, kissing the top of her head softly. "You don't have to do anything, Jo..." he crooned softly, rubbing her back gently. "Joanne, I..."

She pushed away from him, looking into his eyes. "Yes?"

"I..." he stammered, his eyes darting around nervously. "I want you to be all right," he ended lamely.

She fell back into his arms softly, finding refuge is his warm embrace. He wanted to say something else, that was obvious, but she didn't press the matter...

"_For someone so perceptive, you sure are blind to things that are right before your eyes..." _Roger's voice echoed in her mind...he couldn't have meant that Mark...

It didn't matter, anyway. She relaxed in his arms. "I'll try to open up to you about all this, Mark...I promise."

He squeezed her tightly against him. "That's all I ask," he said.


	8. It's Over, Maureen

**I'm Fine**

_Chapter 8 – It's Over, Maureen_

**A/N: **Well, this chapter is short, yet ever-so crucial. And it's my second chapter today, so I'm doing pretty well, really. I hope you're all enjoying Rent on DVD today :) Please review!

* * *

* * *

Mark sat pensively on the couch, waiting for Joanne, who was in the shower. Morbidly overprotective as it might be, he couldn't help but feel nervous whenever Joanne was alone – there was always the possibility of what she might be doing...

But then again, she seemed to be doing quite a bit better. She had been staying in the loft for the past three days – she stayed in Mark's bedroom and he slept on the couch. At first she had protested, but she soon learned just how stubborn the film maker could be. She was eating regularly, even if it wasn't much, and her mood seemed to have lifted some. He listened to the sound of the running water, and smiled as he heard her rich, passionate voice begin a tune. He laughed – he would have never picked Joanne to be one to sing in the shower.

Suddenly the door of the loft swung open, and there was Maureen. She looked a wreck – it was obvious she had gotten very little sleep since the fight. Her dark curls were tousled and put into a messy ponytail, and there were dark circles under her eyes. "Mark," she said, "where is Joanne?"

He found himself glaring at the actress. "She's in the shower."

"I can't believe you, Mark. You lied to me – you said you hadn't seen her in a few days, and here she is staying with you here..."

"She doesn't want to see you, Maureen," he said steadily, meeting her eyes defiantly. "She doesn't want to talk to you, and you're not going to impose on her. Now go before she sees you here...I don't want her getting upset."

"What the hell, Mark? What the hell? Are you her fucking spokesman now? Why won't you just let me see her?"

"Because you don't deserve her, Maureen!" he said, not caring that his voice was rising steadily. "You don't deserve her or her forgiveness! She is so much better than you, so far above you that you couldn't even begin to comprehend her! Why the fuck she dated you in the first place is beyond me, but you sure as hell will not waltz in here and try to take her back."

"Jesus, Mark, I know I don't deserve her..."

"No, Maureen, you don't. You have no idea what Joanne has went through and done and dealt with! Were you ever there for her? No. You're too damn self-absorbed to notice anybody but your own pathetic self."

"Well, Cohen, if you have all the answers today, if you're so wise, then tell me – who deserves her, if I'm so inadequate?" Her dark eyes were gleaming with anger and hatred. "Who deserves her, Mark?"

"Well, maybe I do!" he yelled in reply.

He instantly regretted his words. Maureen's full lips curved into a smirk as she laughed her mocking, bitter laugh. "So that's what this is all about, is it? Wittle Marky's got a crush on Joanne." She snorted derisively. "Sorry, Mark, but I'm afraid your affections would be a bit one-sided – unless, of course, you're contemplating a sex change..."

"Fuck off, Maureen," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "That was just an example. I care about Joanne, and I am there for her when she needs me...and I sure as hell wouldn't cheat on her, wouldn't come home with another woman in my arms."

"I messed up!" said Maureen desperately. "I messed up and I'd be the first to admit it..."

"You always do, Mo, every time. It's always the last time you'll do it, just one more chance...she doesn't deserve someone who's always messing up."

"No one is perfect, Mark," she whine sullenly.

"It's over, Maureen."

Both turned to the corner of the room, staring at Joanne with wide eyes. The black woman was surveying Maureen coldly as she tossed her a key. "You can remove your things from my apartment and leave the key on the kitchen table. I want you gone."

"Pookie, just listen to me..."

"Don't make this any harder than it already is, Maureen. It's over this time...for good."

The drama queen was standing speechless, pain and regret etched in her face.

"Goodbye, Maureen," Mark said evenly, sensing that Joanne had said her fill. She looked at them both pleadingly, then left the apartment with tears in her eyes.

An empty silence settled between them, neither knowing what to say. "How...how much did you hear?" he asked softly, not meeting her gaze.

"A...a lot," she replied, equally uncomfortable.

He mentally slapped himself. So she had heard his accidental confession. "Umm, Jo, I just..."

"You don't have to, Mark. I know."


	9. Help Me Forget

**I'm Fine**

_Chapter 9 – Help Me Forget_

* * *

* * *

She was lying in Mark's bed silently in the dark, cold room, a single warm tear streaming down her soft face. She had told Maureen to leave – it was her fault that Maureen wasn't lying beside her now, holding her now, kissing her now. Maureen was gone, and it was because Joanne had told her to leave...

"_Well, maybe I do!" _echoed Mark's defiant voice in her mind. It couldn't be that Mark had possibly been jealous of Maureen...he had always been jealous of Joanne for having Maureen, and if he were jealous of the drama queen, then that would mean that...

But it didn't matter. Maureen was gone.

The door creaked open and Mark entered, attempting to stay quiet in order not to wake her. She tried to feign sleep, but she couldn't quite stifle a small sob into her pillow, praying that the film maker hadn't heard her and would get whatever he needed and leave...but of course, it hadn't got past him. He sat beside her on the bed and gently massaged her tense shoulders comfortingly. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to escape from her worries and drown herself in the warm tide of his touch.

He was running his hands over her smooth shoulders caressingly, and she felt an involuntary shiver run down her spine as his cool, small fingers brushed lightly against her neck. "Is there anything I can do, Jo?" he asked softly, desperation in his voice as he wiped away a tear from her face gently.

She turned around to face him, propping herself up on her elbow. She surveyed him, at his small, thin frame, those caring blue eyes that radiated concern for her, and she felt herself losing control, needing something, anything right now... "Mark, you said earlier when you were talking to Maureen that you..."

He looked away from her, blushing deeply. "Jo, please don't...I mean, I wasn't trying to make a move on you or anything...don't take it like that...I didn't mean it in a...a...what I mean is, I care about you and everything, and I was..."

Joanne put her finger to his mouth, hushing him. "Just...help me forget, Mark. I need to forget her..."

He was staring at her uncertainly, his expression looking almost pained in his understanding of her words. He slowly took her face in his hands and brushed his lips against hers searchingly, as though asking if this was what she truly wanted. She wrapped her arms around him in reply, kissing him back wit ha sort of hasty desperation. He opened his mouth to her prodding tongue, and she began exploring his mouth quickly. She was pushing him down onto the bed, a frantic, frenzied feeling consuming her, needing Mark, needing this immediately.

He broke the kiss and stood up, taking off his shoes and jacket. She was pulling him down to her again, and he pulled back gently, taking her hands in his. "Shh, Jo," he said, his voice low and husky, "slow down. We have all night..."

She shuddered at his words, her breath skipping slightly. Was she really going to go through with this? He gently pushed her down on the bed and hovered above her. Their lips met again, and this time he took immediate control of the pace, starting a slow, intense rhythm. His tongue penetrated her mouth, pulsating passion with every luxurious exploration of her mouth. His hands began to explore her curves, becoming familiar with every line of her thin, angled body. His lips began trailing gently down, planting small kisses along her sharp, definite jaw line, down her neck, on her protruding collarbone.

She writhed beneath him, breathing deeply and nimbly slipped out from under him until she was straddling his waist. She ran her cold hers under the edges of his sweater, causing him to moan gently as she grazed over his nipple. She pulled the sweater off him and surveyed the man – his arms were well muscled, as was his chest, despite his small build.

She began grinding her hips against his roughly, causing him to gasp at the unexpected contact with his ever tightening pants, and his breath starting coming in small, shallow breaths. Her hands were running over his hot flesh experimentally, trying to erase every memory of Maureen by touching and tasting as much of Mark as she could...

"Joanne," he said in a voice deeper than usual and somewhat throaty. He pushed her up from him gently. He slid agilely out from under her, and stroked her face gently. "You are so used to giving with out getting anything in return," he said softly. "Tonight is all about you."

He laid her down on the bed and leaned to her, kissing her slowly, his tongue exploring her mouth. His lips trailed around her face gently and softly nipped at her ear. "You don't always have to be strong, Joanne," he breathed, as she shuddered delightfully.

His lips continued downward, reaching where neck met her shoulder. He patiently began unbuttoning her shirt, his short, thin fingers shaking slightly as more and more of her coffee-hued skin was exposed. He pulled the shirt off of her and stared reverently at her thin, beautiful form. He ran one soft finger down her side, sending her into a state of tremulous shivers. He began planting hot, burning kisses on her chest and stomach, gradually speeding up as he felt his own need and want elevating. He slipped a hand behind her arched back and unhooked the black bra, quickly pulling it off as well.

She gasped as his hot mouth closed her breast, his tongue swirling around her nipple while teasing the other with his hand. She reached out and ran her fingers through his hair to satisfy her need hold on to something real and corporeal. None of it made any sense – she hadn't felt any strong attraction to a male since her early teenage years, yet her she was moaning beneath Mark in a deeper sea of varied bliss and urgency than she had ever felt before in her life.

His mouth remained on her chest, exploring carefully as though he was trying to memorize her every inch, and his hand began traveling uncertainly downward, unzipping her blue jeans and fumbling awkwardly with the belt. He scooted away from her and slowly began pulled off her pants, his fingers gently grazing the inside of her thigh. She let out a low moan, every cell of her body begging for more, more...her pants joined the pile on the floor.

His hands rested on the waistband of her underwear, hesitation etched in his face. "Jo...are you sure?"

"Damn, Mark," she panted, knowing the she was incapable of forming a complete sentence now. "God yes...more.."

His eyes clouded over with the most intense, pure lust she had ever seen, sending her even closer to the edge than before. He slid her underwear down in a torturously slow manner, placing kisses down her thighs as he went. She moaned, her breath coming haltingly in short pants.

He pressed against her hard as he laid above her, returning to her lips and kissing her with the same, intense, fast-paced passion she had originally initiated. His hips were pressed against hers, the rough denim rubbing against her soft bare skin. She broke the kiss and ran her lips down his chest and below, following the small trail of blonde hair that led past the waistband of his jeans...

The pants and boxers soon joined the rest of the clothes on the floor, and they were kissing frantically now, their hands roaming over their bare bodies, neither able to think or breathe. The rushing, wave-like sensation of lust and passion consumed them completely.

"Do you,have something?" she asked breathlessly, and he nodded, quickly grabbing a condom from the beside table.

There was a sudden moment of stillness and silence between them, and Mark took Joanne's face in his hands and kissed her softly. "You ready, baby?" he asked, his voice low and halting.

She nodded, laying down on the bed, every fiber of her body and soul full of fear, longing, and anticipation.

She gripped the sheets, and there voices filled the air in unison, full of a pleasure that she had never fully experienced before. This indescribable feeling with Mark above her was an undeniable high that she never wanted to escape.

They lied together for an eternity afterwards. She rested in his arms, her body and spirit in a deep, peaceful calm like none she had previously felt. After about half an hour of silent comfort and warmth, he softly kissed her cheek and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "Do you want me to get you something to drink or anything, Jo?"

She sighed, smiling up at him. "A glass of water would be nice," she admitted, although she shivered and instantly regretted it when he slid out of bed and his wonderful body heat left her side. She pulled up the blankets around her as he pulled on his boxers and walked into the kitchen.

Mark turned quickly as the door of the loft slid open. "Hey Mark, me and Mimi are..." Roger stopped suddenly as he saw his room mate. The young film maker was standing there, clad only in boxers, obvious traces of sweat and sex still caressing his chest and skin, his blonde hair tousled in a tell-tale manner.

The guitarist was speechless, unable to comprehend that little, awkward Mark was standing before them after a long night of...

"Umm..." stammered Mark, "I was just getting...getting Joanne a...oh, fuck," he cursed, flustered.

Mimi laughed, her eyebrows raised. "Obviously," she said slyly, misinterpreting his words on purpose. "Come on, Rog," she continued, pulling Roger with her into his bedroom.

Mark quickly got the water and hurried back to his bedroom. "Here you go," he said, laughing nervously.

"Did I hear Roger and Mimi?" she asked, her eyebrow arched.

He laughed nervously again. "Yeah...awkward."

She laughed quietly then kissed his cheek gently. "Goodnight, Mark," she said softly, curling up in his arms.

He lied in bed, silently stroking her hair, her face, her arms as she fell asleep. He took her small hand in his. "I love you, Jo," he whispered to the sleeping woman.


	10. And Rebound

**I'm Fine**

_Chapter 10 – And Rebound_

* * *

* * *

Joanne woke up alone the next morning, the room full of sunlight but terribly cold. She quickly sprang out of the bed, wrapping herself in a sheet, and walked over to the dresser, slipping on one of Mark's t-shirts and a pair of loose shorts. She hesitantly left the bedroom, hoping to find Mark in the kitchen, maybe making coffee or reading the paper...

But the only person in the kitchen was Mimi, sitting on the metal table and smoking a cigarette. "Morning, Joanne," she said carelessly. "Coffee?" she asked, jumping down and grabbing a mug from the counter.

"Thanks," Joanne said, taking a seat on the touch, where she was soon joined by the young girl with the coffee.

They sat together, both slightly awkward, until Mimi broke the ice. "Now, I know we're not all that close, and I know it's none of my business...but you and Mark? It was just...completely unexpected. But Jo...I just have to tell you...you and Mark together – the idea just seems absolutely right. Are you two dating?"

"No," Joanne replied quickly. "It was just a...a one-time thing. I was upset, and Mark was...well, there. Not that I don't like him, per say, but last night was...rebounding, I guess."

"I get that," said Mimi, nodding. "But what about Mark – what was he there for, then, if you were just rebounding? I've known him for two years, and we're pretty close – he's not at all the type to go looking for a quick screw, you know? He doesn't get close to people easily, he doesn't at all if he can help it, but when he does, he has this intensity about him...and I've noticed it lately, when he's around you, Jo."

"What are you saying, Mimi – that Mark's in love with me?"

"I don't know, but he does care about you like he hasn't cared for anybody in the entire time I've known him."

They were silent, neither knowing what to say. "Do you know where he is now, Mimi?"

"Oh, off with his camera, of course. Where else?"

"That figures," said Joanne, shaking her head.

"So..." said Mimi, her eyes glinting mischievously, "how was he?"

"Mimi!" she scolded, turning a deep shade of mulberry and looking flustered.

Mimi smirked. "That good, huh?"

Joanne looked exasperated, then felt her mouth turn up slightly in a sheepish grin. "Well...yeah."

"Joanne Jefferson, did I just hear you giggle?"

"Maybe you did," she admitted, laughing. "But did he mention where he was going?"

"I'd check the roof, if I were you. He loves to go up there to think and shoot."

_Yet you yearn and you churn and rebound..._

He sat pensively, reflecting on the words in relation to the previous night. God, he was an idiot to believe it – her very words had been, "Help me forget her."

It was a distraction – to Joanne, he was merely a substitute Maureen. He bitterly wiped away a burning tear. Hell, why did he always have to be so fucking emotional in times like these? Joanne had used him, sure, but he had put himself up for it...he realized now what an idiot he had been for thinking that last night had been real, but he was responsible for his own gullibility.

"Mark?" He whirled around. Joanne was standing near the entryway to the roof, wearing one of his much too large t-shirts. He instantly forgot his worries and darted over to her, pulling off his corduroy jacket and putting it on her small, shivering frame. "What are you doing out here, Jo? It's freezing."

"I...I wanted to talk, Mark." His heart instantly sank – those words were never a good beginning, he knew. They sat down together, both shuddering in the cold wind.

"I just wanted to say, Mark, that last night was...well, pretty amazing, honestly. But we...I'm not healthy, Mark, and we're from completely different worlds...I just don't know that..."

"Joanne," he interrupted, his voice full of quite intensity, "I love you."

She was at a loss for words. "I don't know if last night was logical or what it meant to you, Jo, but baby, it meant the world to me. When I'm with you, I...I just don't know, Joanne...god, tell me – was it just a rebound?"

She slipped her hand in his, meeting his intense gaze. "It's wasn't just a rebound, Mark. I don't know what it was, but it meant a hell of a lot more than that."

His face relaxed, a small nervous grin on his mouth, shy and scared. She looked into his eyes, and pure joyful light seemed to radiate from him. "That's all I needed to hear," he breathed.

Timidly he kissed her soft lips, caressing her face lovingly. He held her in his arms, a perfect feeling of warmth and unity washing over them both. His hand was gently rubbing her forearm, and she closed her eyes. With Mark, life just seemed right – a part of her that had been empty seemed to be filled and alive. With Mark, she was worthwhile and beautiful. With Mark, she didn't need to lose weight, she didn't need to starve, she didn't need to throw up. With Mark, she could be herself like never before.

He led her into the loft, which seemed strangely empty. "Rog?" he called, with no response. He crossed over to the table and saw a small piece of paper.

"_Mark, Joanne –_

_Me and Mimi went out for a while, and we probably won't get back till past dark. Which is well over five hours, by the way. Have fun._

_-Roger"_

Mark was turning a deep crimson. "I swear I'm going to fucking kill him," he muttered, ripping up the note irritably.

Joanne laughed, springing lightly up on the table and sitting there quite content. "Well?"

He looked at her dubiously, his brow knitted in confusion"Well what?"

Joanne laughed – the boy was just clueless sometimes. "Well, aren't you going to take Roger's advice and...have some fun?"

Mark laughed nervously.


	11. I'm Scared, Mark

**I'm Fine**

_Chapter 11 – I'm Scared, Mark_

**A/N: **So...I'm unbelievably sorry about how long it took me to update this story – severe case of lack of time/writer's block. So, I hope this chapter makes up for lost time in some form or fashion. Also, I've had people who are concerned that I'm getting too far away from the eating disorder part of the plot. Believe me, I'm not abandoning that to pursue lots of hot sex scenes with Mark (even though that's really fun...), the more serious aspect of the plot will be returning shortly. I just found it necessary to deviate from that at least a little. Also, this chapter takes place DIRECTLY after the end of the last chapter, which -- I know it's been a while since I posted that, but c'est la vie. Please review :)

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She pulled him closer to her until she was towering almost directly over him, still sitting on the edge of the metal table in the loft. He was still staring at her with that nervous, fidgeting expression – though why he was nervous was beyond her. She waited for him to make some kind of effort here, then internally sighed – apparently he wasn't going to make the first move. She took matters into her own hands, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer to her. Their lips met as she leaned down towards him, her legs curling around his chest seductively until he was pressed against her, both their breathing becoming more and more ragged. Her little hands were running through his hair, messing it up more than it already was. His soft, cold hands were creeping up her shirt, tracing small circles on her skin.

There was something about this, something unbearably right, strangely intoxicating. As they kissed, the world seemed to blur and drift away from them until they were left with nothing but their overwhelming, consuming passion. Nothing around them made sense or existed or mattered – for now, there was only them and only this.

If they heard the sliding door open then quietly click closed, it didn't matter and they took no notice of it. She had him and vice versa, and nothing could threaten that. If there were sobs outside the loft, they were oblivious to them...

Maureen leaned against the wall of the hall outside the loft, not sure if she should be angry, hurt, or depressed. She wanted to barge inside, pull Mark off of her love and take her home and beg her to forgive her and make love to her again and again and again...but she had lost her chance now. For once, Maureen accepted that she truly didn't deserve Joanne.

"_Well, maybe I deserve her!" _Mark's voice echoed.

Maybe he did...

She angrily wiped away the tears streaming down her cheek. _She _was not the type to cry over a lost lover – but then again, she didn't usually lose them, she intentionally left them. She deserved every bit of what was happening now, but – Joanne was screwing Mark, for God's sake. _Mark. _The little nerdy Jewish film maker – what could have been so damn appealing about him to completely change Joanne's claimed sexual preference within less than a week? Of course Joanne was just rebounding – there was no plausible way that there could be anything more substantial than a one night stand or two between them.

But despite excuses and reasons, it still stung. She sat in the hall and began to sob as she heard the soft and growing moans of _Oh God, Mark_ and a lower-pitched voice breathing _Jo..._

* * *

Joanne gently ran her fingers along Mark's pale, strong chest, pulling the couch blanket up around them more. "Mark?" she said quietly, shifting on the couch. 

"Hmm?" he replied, kissing her forehead.

"I was thinking...I sort of need to go back to my apartment soon."

"You mean, to get some of your stuff, or..." he trailed off, looking at her hopefully.

She shook her head. "I need to move back...I can't just impose here..."

Mark's muscles tensed, his expression sad. "I guess so," he said softly. "I mean...it's not like you were just going to stay here forever or anything...I just...I...well...I'll miss you, Jo. I guess I just...got used to you being here all the time."

She kissed him softly, resting against his warm, comforting body. "I'd miss you, too," she admitted quietly. "Which is why I...I was wondering if maybe you'd...be willing to stay there with me for a little while."

He looked at her curiously, his forehead wrinkled. "You want me to move in with you?"

"Well, I – yes, I do."

They laid together for a few moments in silence, Mark contemplating her offer. "Well, would that make it officially us, then?" he asked quietly. "I mean...we've never really discussed anything like a relationship, and living together would at least imply that..."

"Yeah, I guess it would."

They didn't speak, an awkward silence taking hold. "I'm scared, Mark," she confessed, her voice small and weak. She looked up at him, and her chocolate-hued eyes were full of fear and vulnerability, two attributes he never would have associated with Joanne. "I'm afraid that if I go home now by myself that I'll never be able to love again, that I'll shut myself off, that I'll let go of everything except my job. I'm scared that I'll lose this moment forever, that I'll go on and metaphorically bury myself. Am I using you? I guess, in a way, I am. But it's only because when I'm with you is the only time I can forget about schedules and itineraries and perfection...it's because you let me be me, and it's scary and new and crazy and amazing. I just...I don't know that I'd be able to go on without you now, Mark...I'm dependant on you now, completely and totally, and I don't know what will happen if I let go of you now."

He wiped away the small tear with his slightly callous thumb and looked at her for a few moments, taking in her request and confession slowly. He leaned in and gently kissed her, almost reverently. "I can be packed by tonight, if you want," he replied, taking her hand in his and kissing it. He looked at her and his quirky, awkward grin spread sheepishly across his face. "So...does this make us a thing?"

She smiled, a small giggle escaping her. "I suppose so. If that's what you want, of course."

He nodded, smiling. "Is this awkward for you, Jo?" he asked, after a moment. "I mean...you and Maureen just broke up not too much over a week ago, and I'm already asked to move in? I mean...I can't help but feel like a rebound, Jo..."

She looked up at him, her expression almost pleading. "Please, Mark," she whispered. "I need this."

He nodded and put on a less concealing smile. "I understand."

* * *

He sat on his bed, camera in hand as he silently thought about the recent events. Joanne needed him, and he needed to help her in any way possible...and he couldn't begin to deny that he wanted this. But did he really want it if it didn't mean as much to her as it did him? He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of these thoughts. Thinking along these lines would do no good... 

He did know that she was, in her own way, using him. But wasn't he doing the same? Wasn't she his escape from his loneliness? One could argue that was the normal role of a lover, but to Mark, not being alone was such a foreign feeling – even when he had dated Maureen, he had still been alone more or less. But when Joanne entered the room, she had this way of focusing her energy and attention until you were sure you were the only person who could possibly matter...

He looked down at his bag, packed with clothing and essentials. He was getting ready to move in with his...his girlfriend? The sound of it was awkward and foreign, so he pushed it aside. He was getting ready to move in with _Joanne. _

"Ready to go?" came her voice from outside his door.

He stood up, looking down at his camera as if he was deciding between his art and his Joanne, loneliness or love...he put the camera into his bag and started heading toward the door. "I'm coming."

She was waiting for him by the door, and he hesitantly took her hand in his as they left the loft.


	12. Something As True As This Is

**I'm Fine**

_Chapter 12 – Something As True As This Is_

**A/N: **For the first time in forever, a fast update! Aren't you shocked? I guess this is to make up for the nearly a month when you heard absolutely nothing from me…so, here it is, Chapter 12! I'm sorry if lately it's seemed like it's getting too lovey-dovey, too fluffy, because that's not my intent. However…I do like little bits of fluff here and there, and this is my here and my there. Within the next few chapters, the story will probably get back to a less happy-go-lucky feel, but for now, enjoy and embrace the fluff! Love it and it will love you back. And ignore me – I'm just crazy.

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It was nearly 11 o'clock when they arrived at the apartment building. Mark looked up at it with a bit of awe. "You live here?" he asked, gazing up at the 10-story building which was much nicer than anywhere Mark could ever remember seeing this close since he moved to New York.

"Yeah," she said uncomfortably, leading him to the elevator to the 7th floor. "Home sweet home," she continued as she entered her apartment, laying her jacket on the back of a chair. It was, without doubt, as completely opposite from the loft as could possibly be. The furniture, which was all quite nice, matched perfectly, and the floor was covered with a rich, luxuriously soft carpet of a golden beige hue. There were several paintings on each wall, giving it an artistic flair. But above all, it was instantly obvious that the apartment was heated, and although it was distinctly different than the loft, Mark found that to be one adjustment he didn't mind at all.

She walked into the adjoined kitchen. "Can I get you anything, Mark? Tea, coffee, soda?"

"Tea would be fine," he said.

"All right," she replied, putting water on the stove to boil. "Make yourself at home."

He nodded, smiling nervously. That wasn't very likely to happen anytime soon…

He walked over to the shelf on one wall and began to look at the framed photographs - a family portrait of Joanne and her parents, a picture of different relatives, a snapshot of Joanne and Maureen, hand in hand. He looked over to make sure Joanne's attention wasn't on him, and then pushed that picture behind the others. His attention turned back to the pictures…there was Roger with Mimi and Collins and – his heart sank slightly as he saw it – Angel in that Santa coat, the way he first met him…well, her…

And there was a picture of Mark himself with, appropriately enough, his camera. The Mark in the picture looked cold, isolated, and lonely…which was not unusual for him, undeniably. He moved on sadly and saw another picture of himself – this time he was dancing on a table, which was a much more natural look for him.

Joanne laid her head on his shoulder from behind him as he gazed at the pictures. "Here's your tea," she said, handing him a cup of the steaming beverage.

"Thanks," he replied, sipping. They sat down on the couch together, and Mark turned to her. "I want to say thanks, for inviting me to come live here," he said awkwardly.

"Believe me, I would have rather just stayed at the loft," she admitted, "but I didn't want to impose on you guys, plus this is a lot closer to the office."

"And the loft was a pigsty and you prefer order and reason?"

She laughed. "Well, that too. And besides," she continued in almost a whisper, "here there's no one to worry about coming in or overhearing…"

Mark laughed nervously, and Joanne had to bite back a giggle at his adorable expression. "I understand that," he replied. "That last encounter with Mimi and Roger…now that was awkward." He smiled, looking intently at her. "How have you been lately, Jo? I mean…it seems like with everything that's…happened we haven't really had time to talk like we used to."

She shrugged. "I'm doing…pretty well," she said cautiously, "surprisingly well. And I suppose I have you to thank for that."

Mark smiled, taking her hand in his and tracing her veins and bones softly, distractedly. "But…have you been eating lately?" he blurted out.

She nodded uncomfortably. "Some," was all she volunteered.

"How much?" he insisted, hoping he wasn't pressing her too much.

"Enough."

"How much is enough?"

She sighed. "At least one medium-sized meal a day," she replied.

He nodded, satisfied. "I'm sorry to bother you like this, Joanne," he said apologetically, "but I do worry about you."

"You don't need to," she answered quickly. "Really, Mark. I'm fine."

They were silent for a moment, and he severely regretted bringing up the subject in the first place. After a few seconds, however, the film maker broke the silence.

"Fuck," he breathed.

She looked over at him. "What's wrong?"

"I just realized that I just…left. I mean, I didn't leave a note or tell him what was going on or anything, I just packed up my shit and left him there. God, Rog'll fucking kill me."

Joanne laughed. "I didn't know he was so Mother Hen-ish," she said.

"Well, he's not. I mean, he is, but…God, it's Roger, he's allowed to be. I know I would kill him if he did that."

She smiled, amazed at the devotion between the two best friends. "Go on and call him."

He ran to the phone and quickly dialed. "Hey Rog, it's me, pick up the goddamn phone, ok? Come on, seriously, Roger…pick it up. Or, you know, don't, if you're gonna be like that. I was calling to say that, uh, I'm at Joanne's, and I…I'm gonna be here a while, I sorta moved in…just wanted to call and let you know, but hey, if you're not even there, then I might as well just ramble on and on and on and on to the damn answering machine, which I could do all night, if I had to in order for you to pick up the phone…" A triumphant grin spread across Mark's face, and Joanne could faintly hear Roger's voice on the other end. "See, I knew I could get you to pick up. No, I don't give a fuck what I was interrupting; I needed to talk to you! So, I just wanted to say that I'm at Joanne's…" He paused and his face turned red as he tried and failed to protest. He sulked slightly before muttering, "That was completely uncalled for. Asshole. Love you too…bye."

He hung up the phone and turned back to Joanne, who was nearly hysterical with laughter. "You leave the weirdest messages and have the weirdest phone conversations of anyone I have ever met," she said, shaking her head.

He shrugged, joining in on her laughter. "It's probably because I'm one of the weirdest people you've ever met. Or will ever meet, for that matter."

"I won't deny that," she grinned. "But I must say it only makes you all the more endearing."

"Oh, I'm blushing," he smirked, striking what he must have considered an adorable pose. She rolled her eyes at him and playfully threw a pillow from the couch at him. He briefly feigned looking shocked and offended before throwing the pillow back at her harder than she had thrown it. A mini pillow fight ensued, both of them laughing and yelling as they struggled for dominance. Once Joanne had finally hoarded all of the pillows for her own purposes, Mark merely yelled, "No, you don't!" and tackled her playfully, pushing her down onto the couch and pinning her wrists above her head.

They instantly grew still, their eyes connecting as he hovered above her, their rambunctious attitude immediately replaced with a quietly intense manner. After a moment's delay – or was it an eternity's – Mark swiftly closed the space in between them with a searching kiss, his lips begging silently for what only she could give them. She responded quickly to his advances, opening her mouth submissively to his prodding tongue. He broke the kiss, sliding down her body in a most provocative manner, leaving her wondering what exactly he planned on doing next. He quickly grabbed a discarded pillow and lightly attacked Joanne, who was caught completely off guard by it. He was laughing, gloating with distinct pride to have had the last say in the matter, and she couldn't help but grin as she surveyed him.

Mark was just so unique. Everything he did, every move he made was full of that awkward, quirky energy that defined him. He could so quickly change from immaturity to romance it seemed almost unhealthy. She smiled as she looked at him, so full of that childish grace that he was composed of. And above all that, he was caring and compassionate and he loved her, in his way.

She looked into his sparkling blue eyes. "Mark," she said softly, a small smile gracing her lovely mouth, "this is…right."

He nodded in agreement, kissing her cheek. "Perfectly right."

**

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A/N: Personally, I love the above encounter – it's just so full of fun and joy like very little else is, and I think that's important. I do love seeing Mark and Joanne having fun playing around, they're just so adorable. But I what I need is your opinion...Please review and I'll love you forever. Thanks!**


	13. Please Don't Touch Me

**I'm Fine**

_Chapter 13 - Please Don't Touch Me_

**A/N: **Ah yes, a chapter with an angsty turn! Finally...I know. Sorry it took me a while to update - wasn't working with me. Hope you enjoy.

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"You have reached Joanne Jefferson. I'm not at home right now, so please leave a message at the tone. Thank you."

"Joanne, it's Daddy. I wanted to call and make sure that you're coming home for Thanksgiving this weekend. I know it's a little bit last minute, but your mother is running around everywhere making everything perfect, so she'll be heartbroken if you don't come. Please, Kitten...it wouldn't be right to have a Thanksgiving dinner without you. We love you…oh, and of course Maureen is more than welcome to come with you."

Joanne cringed at the last sentence as she deleted the message. Mark entered the apartment, holding his camera. "Who was that?" he asked, pulling her to him by the hips and kissing her gently.

"It was Dad. He wants me to come home on Friday for Thanksgiving and stay the weekend."

"Oh," came his reply. He looked slightly down fallen. "I thought maybe we'd be able to spend the weekend together…what with work and all it seems like I've barely seen you all week."

She rolled her eyes. "Mark, you live here. You sleep in the same bed as I do. You see me all the time."

"Well, I know, but…"

She laughed. "Of course, you're invited to come with me, if you'd like."

His eyebrow instantly arched. "Me, invited to a family function? Doesn't that seem a little…formal? Too serious? Something? I mean, we've only been dating for three weeks now…"

She shrugged. "I know…but I'd like it if you came, Mark. I love my parents – but I don't know that I'd be able to survive a weekend with them without you there to help me through it."

He sighed dramatically and kissed her forehead. "Of course I'll come with you."

She smiled, internally dreading it. Her parents were expecting Maureen – she hadn't mentioned their breakup to them – and not only would they be surprised by her lack of a girlfriend, but she also had a new boyfriend to introduce. _Oh, this will be interesting_… she thought.

* * *

He was fidgeting as they pulled up outside the gate of the suburban mansion, his expression rather squeamish. 

"Relax, Mark, they'll love you."

"But…this is just…I don't know," he ended lamely.

"I know," she murmured quietly, and their eyes met, sharing the look of doubt. She took his hand with an air of put-on confidence and led him up the door of the house, ringing the doorbell. A maid answered, smiling radiantly at Joanne.

"Welcome home, Miss Jefferson," she greeted them, showing them to the foyer. "May I take your coats?"

Mark grudgingly surrendered the corduroy jacket, his scarf still wound tightly about his neck. Joanne looked at him, laughing quietly as he nervously fiddled with the fringe of the scarf.

"Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson are in the library, I believe – come this way." They followed the maid through the beautiful house, Mark feeling more and more self-conscious with each step.

"I feel underdressed," he commented softly as they passed through the dining room with the mini chandelier. She squeezed his hand reassuringly, replying, "I think you look perfect, Mark. Don't be so tense."

The maid went in before them to inform Joanne's parents that they had arrived, and Joanne took both of Mark's hands and kissed him gently. "Do not worry, baby," she whispered kindly, fixing his hair lightly with one hand. "You'll be fine."

He shrugged noncommittally and followed her into the room with an expression of one walking to the guillotine.

Joanne was hugged by her mother, a solid, dignified-looking woman, and then by her father, a warm and loving man. "Mom, Dad," she said, pulling away from him, "I would like to introduce you to Mark Cohen."

Mark shook Mr. Jefferson's hand, and Mrs. Jefferson smiled at him graciously, even if she did look a little confused. "Welcome, Mark. It's always nice to have one of Joanne's friends join us, especially one we've heard so much about over the past few years."

Mark blushed at her words, smiling a little. Joanne cleared her throat. "Actually, Mom, Dad, Mark isn't just a friend of mine. He's my…boyfriend."

The word instantly brought a moment of silence, in which her parents quickly caught each other's glance, as if to see how the other was processing this unexpected turn of events. The expression of worry seemed to disappear quickly, and it was replaced by something that could have been considered relief.

"Well, it's wonderful to have you here, Mark," said her father, shaking his hand again for emphasis. "Absolutely wonderful."

By dinner time, Mark had been interviewed casually about several subjects, but by the time the dinner was over, he had been repeatedly interrogated about his work, his job or lack thereof, his family history, his ethnic background, his criminal record, and his relationship with Joanne.

Joanne attempted to help him out the situation and tried to get her parents to pause the interrogation for an hour or so, but she was soon distracted by other matters. This was her first true meal for a while. Lately she had noticed Mark's not-so-casual forms of watching her as she ate, trying to be sure she was eating enough, but now he was distracted, and she could get away with eating a little and throwing the rest away.

She glanced around bitterly, this house full of terrible memories, reminding her of the time when...when all of this had started...she couldn't eat here...

But a little bite of mashed potatoes couldn't hurt anything, could it?

A bite turned into a helping within seconds, and Joanne realized without caring that she was scarfing down food uncontrollably. Every bite seemed to make way for more and more, a gateway to the rest of the meal. She looked around nervously, sure that all three of the others were staring at her and watching her every move, but they were engaged in conversation. Joanne faintly heard Mark discussing his film, but now even that didn't matter – all that mattered was her innate need to devour and consume to her heart's content. She choked back tears as she uncontrollably ate, angry and grateful and bitter that no one noticed her…

She couldn't ask to be excused – she knew that. Mark would automatically know then.

She patiently waited and ate until the end of the meal, and found to her misfortune that they would probably continue talking for another thirty minutes, at least. She sat uneasily, the excessive amounts of food literally paining her stomach, which had grown accustomed to small amounts food.

By 9 o'clock, she stood up and made her excuses, able to bear it no longer. She explained that she was tired and wasn't feeling particularly well, and that she would probably go on to bed. Mark stood up immediately, looking alarmed.

"Can I help, Jo?" he asked softly, his hand supporting her at the small of the back.

She shook her head. "Don't worry about me, Mark…I just have a migraine, but I'll be fine."

As she hurried to the bathroom to relieve herself of her flawed, harming food that lurked inside her, she chanted it over and over in her mind, _I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine…_

* * *

Mark silently slipped into the large bed in the small guest house, tenderly caressing her hair. "Are you feeling better, baby?" he asked softly, kissing her cheek. 

She nodded wretchedly, forcing a smile. She longed to lie in his arms and sob and tell him everything that was wrong with her…but she knew better. She silently adopted her façade.

"Good," he whispered, his hands beginning to roam across her body as he kissed her. She kissed him back, though rather stoically, coldly. His tongue gently prodded against her slightly resistant mouth, begging for entrance…

Joanne instantly froze, a silent hysteria beginning to flood her. If he kissed her, then he may be able to tell she spent the past hour throwing up until there was nothing left within her…she abruptly broke off the kiss, not meeting his gaze. He turned her face to meet his eyes, looking slightly confused and hurt. She looked up into his eyes, feeling guilty as she saw the look of rejection in his eyes and kissed him gently on the cheek.

He pulled her closer to him, his hands running down her sides and resting on her hips – her hips, which she had always hated, so fat and disgusting and revolting…if he touched her like this, he too would find her repulsive, wouldn't he?

She pulled away from him quickly, turning around so her back was facing him, unable to provide any kind of explanation to him. He sighed, feeling excluded and a little bitter as he stared at the ceiling for a moment before sitting up in bed.

"Did I do something?" he asked finally, unable to contain it any longer.

"No," came a muffled reply.

He looked at her still form and saw her shoulders shaking silently. Immediately concerned, he picked her up into his arms, pulling her into a sitting position as she began to sob into his shoulder. He rocked her back and forth, kissing her hair as he whispered soothing words in her ear.

"Jo, what's wrong?" he asked softly, his voice full of sympathy. "Joanne," he crooned, "talk to me. Tell me what's wrong…I need to help…"

He held her, tears streaming unabashedly down his face as he desperately tried to comfort her. "Shh…it's ok, honey. Just breathe, all right? You're going to be fine, Joanne. You're strong – but don't think you have to be strong on your own. I'm here to help you…please let me."

She rocked in his arms for a while, unable to speak. He wiped away her tears, only to replace them with his own, until she started to calm down, the sobs subsiding as she became still in his arms. "Will you talk to me, Jo?" he asked desperately.

She shook her head, pushing away from him slightly and looking at him. "Mark, please don't make me…not now. Just…just hold me for tonight, please?"

He obliged, laying down on the bed and allowing Joanne to settle in his arms. "Tell me you love me?" she requested, almost begged, her brown eyes still red from crying.

"You know I do," he replied gently, his free hand entwining with hers.


	14. You're Going To Be Fine

**I'm Fine**

_Chapter 14 - You're Going To Be Fine_

* * *

* * *

"Miss Jefferson, there's a call for you on line 1."

"Thank you," she replied to the new secretary – what was her name again? Deciding it was inconsequential, Joanne picked up the phone. "Joanne Jefferson speaking."

"Jo, hey, it's me. I just wanted to see…are you free tonight?"

"Why?" she asked, somewhat suspicious.

"Because, baby, I want to take you out somewhere and show you off," she could practically hear him smiling as he laughed, "so we're going out. Meet me at the apartment ready to leave by 8 o'clock sharp. Love you – bye."

She was beaming as she hung up the phone – technically speaking, this was their first true date.

* * *

"I really appreciate it, Rog," Mark said, readjusting the black tie for the thousandeth time. "Are you sure it looks ok?" 

"You look fine, Mark," Roger reassured him, surveying him as he lounged on the couch in the loft. "And don't worry about it – I haven't worn that suit since my mom's wedding when I was 18…I'm glad it fits you."

"My hair looks like shit," he muttered dismally, hopelessly attempting to fix the fine, straw-colored locks.

Roger shook his head, laughing. "I've got some gel you can use if you want it," he offered helpfully.

"I'd just end up making it look worse."

"Jesus Christ, Mark, you're a lost cause," Roger laughed, retrieving the gel from the bathroom and pouring a small amount expertly into his palm. He ran his fingers lightly through the other's hair. "You know, the loft just isn't the same without you here."

"I miss it," he admitted quietly, feeling almost guilty about his confession. "I love living with Joanne, but damn, it's just so fucking clean…and I miss you, I guess."

"Yeah," Roger replied uncomfortably. "I mean, we lived together, what, four years? Of course it's gonna be weird when one of us isn't there, you know? There you go," he ended, taking his hands from Mark's hair and pulling him to look in the mirror.

Mark looked up at the man he had always admired and loved as an older brother, smiling. "Thanks," he replied.

"No problem," Roger said, washing the leftover gel off his hands. "But Mark…what about Joanne?"

He turned to him, rather confused. "What about her?"

"It's just…you two are the people on earth I would have thought to end up together – I still can't exactly comprehend it." He was looking intently at the other. "Do you love her?" he asked.

"Yes."

Roger smiled slightly, his expression holding an almost sad shadow. "Good," he said, looking into the film-maker's eyes deeply. "Just...take care of her, Mark. And take care of yourself."

"I will," Mark promised, slightly confused over Roger's pensive mood change but deciding not to press the matter. "Hey Rog?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you – you're like a big brother to me..."

"Oh please," said Roger, rolling his eyes, "you're not gonna go all sappy on me, are you?" He laughed, glancing down before looking Mark in the eyes with that casually affectionate expression he usually had. "Love you too, man."

* * *

"So," Joanne said, sitting across from him in the lovely, fancy restaurant, looking happily at the couples on the dance floor, "what exactly is the occasion again?" 

He pretended to look offended at her oblivion. "You mean, you don't realize what today is?" he asked. He took her small, chocolate-colored hand in his. "Today is one month since...everything started," he smiled, kissing her hand, the music from the instrumentalists beautifully romantic.

She smiled, pushing her hair behind her ear in a light, beautifully female way. "But how exactly are you affording this, if I may ask?"

"Well," he said, his dimples shining through his attempt at not looking too proud, "I've met up with a TV station that was interested in my documentary, and they had a screening of it. They've given me the opportunity to clean it up and perfect it with real equipment, Joanne – and then they're going to show it on their channel. The world's gonna see our story, Jo, they're going to see everything about our family and Angel and what it's really like, living in New York...my god, Joanne, it makes me a full-fledged, working film-maker. And it's not some sleazy Buzzline-type show...it's perfect..." His hands were trembling from his excitement.

Joanne felt as though she would explode from her pride. "Mark..." she said, unable to find the right words, "oh...congratulations, baby! Wow...that's just..."

"So I thought tonight we should celebrate," he raised his glass of champagne, "to us, and to my documentary." They toasted, and she kissed him happily. The small orchestra struck up a new tune – a tango. Joanne grinned.

"Do you want to dance?" she asked him, smiling as she pulled him with her over to the dance floor. They whirled across the floor, fitting together perfectly as their bodies moved together in perfect timing...

Joanne stopped suddenly, out of breath, a sharp pain racing through her chest. "I..." but she couldn't complete the sentence. Mark immediately took her back to their table, looking extremely concerned. She sat for a moment until her breathing returned to normal. "Are you okay, Jo?" he asked, looking afraid.

She nodded, taking a deep breath. "I'll be fine," she said. "I think I'll go to the restroom for a moment, I'm not feeling so well..." She tried to stand up and almost fell down until Mark caught her quickly, standing with her.

"I'll take you there, just in case you need help, okay?" he said, obviously worried about her.

She nodded, and they made their way there. He stood nervously outside of the bathroom door. She had been in there for 10 minutes...or was it 2? He couldn't tell...time seemed out of proportion...oh god, what if something was wrong...

A woman shrieked from inside the bathroom. "Oh my god, somebody call an ambulance...somebody help me please!"

Mark ignored the fact that it was a women's restroom and darted inside – Joanne was sprawled out on the floor, clearly unconscious. A young blonde woman was standing beside her, panicking, still yelling for someone to call 911...

Mark tried to check her pulse and her breathing but couldn't find either one correctly...he told himself that he was merely bad at CPR, that it was nothing to worry about, he had made a mistake but Joanne would be okay...she had to be okay...

"She just passed out," said the young girl, still pale, "and I didn't know what to do...oh god, I mean...she just..."

But Mark wasn't exactly listening to her...tears were streaming down his face. "Come on, Jo...you're going to be fine," he whispered, praying that he was telling the truth. "You can make it, baby...breathe...it's fine...you're going to be fine..."

The paramedics rushed in, pushing him out of the way and doing all that they could for her... "We meet to get her to the hospital," one said.

Crammed into a ambulance, Mark held her hand as they did whatever the hell they do. He held her hand as if both of their lives depended on him not letting go...he began to pray to whatever god might here him now that Joanne would be fine.


	15. When Your Heart Has Expired

**I'm Fine**

_Chapter 15 – When Your Heart Has Expired_

**A/N: **I'm sorry for the insanely evil cliffhanger, but...I couldn't help it. C'est la vie. Hope you enjoy the chapter...it's a little shorter than usual, but oh well.

* * *

* * *

"Come on, lady. Let me in! I have to get in there, you don't understand..."

"I'm sorry, sir, but only relatives are allowed in the room while the patient remains in the emergency room. So, if you could please wait out here until a confirmed relative of Ms. Jefferson arrives, then..."

"Please," he was begging now, tears flooding his blue eyes as he pleaded with the nurse, "please – I need to be in there with her. I'm...I'm her fiancé."

The woman visibly softened. "Well," she said hesitantly, "if that's the case...what's your name, sir?"

"Mark...Mark Cohen," he said quickly.

"All right, Mr. Cohen...come with me."

* * *

"But will Joanne be ok?" 

Dr. Perry cleared his throat. "Heart failure can be an extremely serious thing, Mr. Cohen, but as of right now, it looks like she'll be conscious within the next few hours to the few days, and it seems as though she'll be able to heal quickly and normally."

Relief spread across his face. "You're sure? She's going to be fine?"

"There's always a slight chance otherwise, but I would say so. But I need to ask you a few questions, if I could. Does Ms. Jefferson have any abnormal health problems that may not be listed on her record? From her medical history, I can see nothing that could have caused heart failure in a woman her age. We can find out what happened, of course...but it's best if we have some idea of what we're dealing with. Does she have any medical problems not listed?"

"Umm..." said Mark awkwardly, feeling as if he were somehow betraying her and unable to meet the doctor's eyes, "she's bulimic."

"I see. And do you know how long this has been the case?"

Mark still refrained from looking the man in the eye, his own shame flooding him, "At least ten years."

The doctor sighed. "Eating disorders are extremely dangerous things, Mr. Cohen – especially when left untreated over long periods of time. Has she never gone through rehabilitation or therapy?"

"She refused – she convinced herself that she was perfectly fine and that she didn't have an eating disorder."

Dr. Perry shook his head. "It's a wonder something hasn't happened before now. We'll do all we can for her, but the minute – and I do mean the very minute – she is released from the hospital, I would strongly suggest looking into a nice rehab center for women with eating disorders for her to stay in for at least a few months, or however long it takes to fix this. Do you understand, Mr. Cohen? This time, she was lucky and it wasn't severe. If she continues this, it very well may become fatal. Her life may depend on it."

"Thank you, Dr. Perry," Mark said softly, hating himself for not taking action against the bulimia before now. "Can I stay with her?"

"Of course."

* * *

She was so helpless. The thought hit him again and again as he stared at her, looking shrunken and tiny in the hospital bed, attached to IVs and cords and machines...she looked so dependant and – a shiver ran down his spine – she looked like she was dying. He took her hand, knowing that there was supposedly no chance of that right now, that she would be fine...but he gripped her hand desperately, nonetheless. 

He wearily took off the suit jacket and the tie, laying them on the small table. He laid his head on the bed beside her, closing his eyes as he continued to hold her hand, determined not to sleep. He was just going to rest his eyes for a few minutes – what time was it, anyway? It must be at least 3 or 4 a.m...

He jumped awake when two voices entered the room. He wiped off his glasses quickly, glancing at his watch – it was 9 in the morning...so much for not sleeping.

"Mark!" said Mr. Jefferson quickly, going over to him. "I'm so glad you're here, son...the hospital called this morning, saying that Joanne had suffered from non-fatal heart failure...what on earth happened? Is she going to be ok?"

Mark sighed, sitting back down. "She's...they say she's going to be fine soon."

"But what caused it?"

"Ten years of bulimia," Mark replied bluntly, too tired and worried to care about tact.

Mrs. Jefferson's eyes fluttered shut, sitting down quickly. "Dear God...we should have known...that year when she lost so much weight...she said she'd been dieting and exercising...oh God..."

"The doctor wants her to go to a rehab hospital as soon as she's released from here," said Mark numbly, seemingly unable to comprehend it. "They say that if she doesn't stop now, it could end up killing her. It shuts down your internal organs over long amounts of time..."

They were all silent, staring at the woman they all loved, lying so peacefully in the hospital bed, looking so small and helpless...

"Of course she'll go to rehab, if they think it'll help," said Mr. Jefferson, shaking. "I don't know why she hasn't been before...you said it's been going on for ten years?"

"She didn't admit that there was anything truly wrong with her. She was sure she was perfectly fine, that it was just a phase...she didn't see that anything was wrong." Mark was shuddering now, fighting back tears. "She told me about it...she told me at least three months ago...and I did nothing about it, I didn't tell anybody or make her stop, I tried to help but she wouldn't let me and I didn't insist...if I had done something about it, then maybe she wouldn't be here now...oh God, if I had done something..."

He was crying now, bitter, angry, self-repulsed tears streaming in a burning river down his face. "If I had something...she might be fine now...and I didn't! I was too scared to say anything, and I...God, what the hell was I thinking?"

Joanne's mother was rubbing his back gently, whispering soothingly to the sobbing boy. "Sh, Mark...sh..." she said calmly, "it's not your fault. If anything, it's ours – we should have seen that something was wrong with her, but we were too blind to notice. Believe me, Mark – you have helped her so much just by being there..."

"I love her," he said softly, looking at the sleeping woman, wiping a tear off his face. He took no notice of her parents, taking her hand in his own again, kissing it gently. "Come on, baby," he whispered to her, "you can make it...I love you..."

He closed his eyes, leaning down against her soft hand. "I love you, too," came a soft whisper. Joanne's eyelids fluttered open, and she gently squeezed his hand. "We're going to be okay."


	16. You Deserve Each Other

**I'm Fine**

Chapter 16 – You Deserve Each Other

* * *

* * *

Mark paced back and forth by front entrance, waiting for the arrival of the others. They said they would be there at noon, and it must be...it was only 12:05? It seemed like they were later than that. He sighed – he was just anxious to get back to Joanne.

"Hey, sorry we're late," said Roger, striding the door and into the lobby. He went to Mark's side and hugged him. "You holding up okay?" he asked when he let him go, his hands on Mark's shoulders.

"Yeah," he said after a second's hesitation, "yeah, it's gonna be ok, I think."

"Good," replied Roger as Mimi and Collins entered the lobby – Collins with a bouquet of flowers and Mimi holding a "Get Well Soon" teddy bear. Mark raised his eyebrows at the sight, and Mimi laughed apologetically.

"No, I didn't think Joanne was quite the teddy bear type, but that's all they had at the giftshop. Besides, it's the thought that counts."

"And I'm sure she'll appreciate that," Mark grinned.

"How is she, Mark?" asked Collins gravely, looking sad and pensive.

"She's doing really well...she's conscious and talking already, a lot faster than they were expecting. The doctors think she should be ready to...to be released within a week."

"And what did they say caused it? I mean, damn – heart failure in a perfectly healthy girl in her twenties – it's not exactly common, is it?"

Mark was silent for a moment before replying, "I think Jo better tell you."

Roger and Collins exchanged a worried glance before following Mark up to the room they had moved Joanne to earlier that morning. "Hey baby," he said, sitting next to the bed, "everybody's here to see you."

Joanne rolled her eyes, pushing herself up until she was sitting. "Just because I'm hospitalized doesn't mean you have to talk to me like a five-year-old, Mark," she said, grinning at her three new visitors. "Hey guys...it's nice to see you."

"These are for you, babe," said Mimi, handing her the teddy bear and flowers. Joanne just smiled diplomatically and accepted them with thanks.

"So, Mark told us this morning that it was heart failure, but the bastard refused to give us specifics," said Collins. His mood obviously hadn't lightened despite his attempts at joking. He was looking around the little hospital room, his eyes flooded with ghosts of memories before he looked back at Joanne, forcing himself to focus. "What's going on, Jo?"

She looked quickly at Mark, as though he could talk their way out of telling them, but Mark's expression was pleading with her to tell them...she took a deep breath.

"Well, in the past I had some trouble with...some things. It ended up effecting my heart, and...that's all there is to it." Even as she said it, she knew perfectly well that they wouldn't accept that as an answer.

"Whoa, girl, you wanna be a little more vague?" asked Mimi sarcastically. "Really, Joanne – you can tell us what it is."

"I...I guess you could say I have an...an eating disorder," she admitted slowly, the words sounds foreign as they escaped her mouth.

She refused to look at their expressions in the moments of silence that followed, not wanting to see the disgust, revulsion, pity on their faces...

"You should have told us," said Mimi quietly, "but I understand not wanting to confess something like that. But still, baby, know that you can come to any of us with stuff like that."

"I mean," interrupted Roger, "it's not like we would have judged you on account of something like that. Look at us – drugs, HIV...it's not like we're exactly care free. Everybody has something they aren't exactly happy with in their life. We've all got our baggage, you could say."

"But Joanne," came Collins' deep, soothing voice, "it's ok to admit it, to accept that you have a problem. Hey," he said, turning her face to look at him gently, smiling at her, "no one's perfect, ok? You don't have to pretend you are."

She looked around at the four loving faces surrounding her, her eyes clouding up against her will with tears. "Thanks, guys," she said, sounding slightly choked up. "I love you all."

They all murmured the returned affection, and a conversation began, but Mark couldn't listen to it, really. He knew Joanne would hate him for not protesting her going to rehab, and he knew that what he really needed now was someone to talk to, to vent to, someone he could trust...he looked around the room. Roger was sitting down near the bed, laughing and talking and holding Mimi's hand...Collins was engaged in the conversation as well...everyone was here, except...

He quickly excused himself and ran to the nearest phone booth, quickly inserting the correct amount of change and dialing the number. "Maureen? Um, hey, it's Mark. I just wanted to talk...can you meet me somewhere? Like...the Starbucks over by the hospital?"

"Why the hell would I want to see you now, Mark?"

"Please, Mo – I...I really need to talk to you..." His voice was growing desperate now, and his composure suddenly expired, and he began sobbing into the phone. "God, Maureen, it's...it's Joanne...she's in the hospital and she could have died, her heart failed and her condition stabilized and she's gonna be fine, but if it keeps up then she could die...and oh god, if I had said something earlier none of this would have happened, and she would be fine right now...they want her to go to rehab for a few months, and I know she'll refuse because she's too stubborn to admit that anything's wrong, and oh god..."

"Mark," came Maureen's voice, surprisingly soft and calm, "I'll be right there. Where did you say, Starbucks? I'll be there in about ten minutes, just calm down, everything will be all right, and you can tell me what happened when I get there, ok?"

He took a deep breath. "Yeah...thanks, Mo."

"Don't worry about it. See you in a minute."

* * *

"Bulimia," repeated Maureen for what could have been the millionth time.

"Yeah," he replied sadly.

"I just...god, I just can't believe it. How the hell could I not notice that?" Maureen buried her head in her hands. "When did you find out?" she asked softly.

"About three or four months ago."

"When Joanne and I were still dating...why didn't you tell me, baby?" she asked, her big eyes pleading and sad.

"I promised I wouldn't...she was always too afraid to tell you, she thought you'd blow it out of proportion or something. I completely underestimated it...I mean, I tried to help and I tried to get her to eat...but I didn't make her see a doctor or talk to someone professionally or anything..."

"Sh, baby, it's not your fault," Maureen assured him. Their eyes met, a sort of silent truce taking place...

"So, I hear you're dating Joanne?" she said softly.

He nodded, feeling awkward. "I'm happy for you, Mark," she continued, looking him in the eye. "I really mean it – you and Joanne are the two most wonderful people I've ever met, and...you deserve each other, honey. I know everything will work out for you two."

Mark smiled in relief, trying to understand Maureen's sudden change. "You seem different," he observed quietly.

She shrugged. "Maybe I am," she said vaguely. "I've had a lot of time to think lately...and I know I've made a hell of a lot mistakes in the past. I'm glad you two have each other now...maybe you can help her through this. She needs you, Mark." She sipped her coffee, seeming slightly pensive. "But Mark...would it be ok with you if I came with you to visit her in the hospital? I'd just...really like to see her again."

Mark nodded. "Of course. And Maureen?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."


	17. Goodbye

**I'm Fine**

_Chapter 17 - Goodbye_

**A/N: **God, I know, it's been what, almost two months? Now, I have no idea if there are any readers left, but if there are, I'm sure you all hate me by now. I originally had this random tangent into a section where there was this awkward, sad little moment of cheating!Mark with Maureen, but then I was like, "What the hell, Sam, you can't have Mark cheat!" so I deleted that and went through severe writers' block. But here it is, the chapter you've all been waiting for, maybe. Hope it begins to make up for the delay.

* * *

"Hey baby," said Mark, taking her hand as he sat beside her on the bed. "You feeling okay?"

She smiled weakly. "Been better, but I'll live," she replied, her voice a little hoarse.

"Jo, were you okay with Maureen visiting?"

She nodded slowly, almost uncertainly. "Yes. I'm...I'm glad you brought her, Mark...things are finally right between us now." She caressed his hand with her thumb. "Something about her makes me realize how much I love you, Mark."

"I love you too," he murmured, not meeting her eyes. "Jo, there's something we need to talk about."

"All right," she said warily. "What is it?"

"Well, I talked to the doctor this morning. He said that after you are released from here, you're going to have to go to a specialized hospital. A...a rehab clinic..."

"Mark, what the hell are you talking about?"

"The doctor said that your heart gave way because of your eating disorder, that if it continues..."

"I _don't _have an eating dis..."

"You do!" His voice was harsh and loud, surprising them both. He stood up quickly, pushing the bedside chair angrily, pacing around the small room in frustration. "Goddamn it, Joanne, how hard is that to understand? You just admitted it to Roger and Mimi and Collins, but now you're back to denying it? You could have died – do you understand that! _You could have died. _Don't leave me here, Jo..." His air instantly changed as he crumpled on the bed beside her, looking up at her with tears in his eyes. "Joanne, they're all dying – Roger and Mimi and Collins – they're dying and they can't do a thing about it. But you, you're running towards it for no reason...you can't just keep doing this to yourself, you don't deserve this misery. Please, Jo...there is so much to care about here. Please...if you can't stop yourself for your own sake, do it for the sakes of the people that love you. Get better, baby...do it for me."

She was quiet, staring at the floor in a distant haze for a few moments before looking up to meet his eyes. "I can't do that, Mark."

He swallowed, closing his eyes for a second before putting on a colder expression. "You're going to rehab either way, Joanne. It's all been arranged...next Friday you're going to be released from here and then you're going to the hospital. I'm sorry, Jo...I tried to help, I didn't want you to have to go through this, but...I can't, ok? I love you, and I can't stand to see you hurting. You won't let me help you, and I can't just let you not get help. You understand, don't you? You...you have to get better." He leaned down to her and kissed her cheek. "I love you...that's why you have to go."

She was staring off into space, avoiding his eyes at all costs. "I'm fine, Mark," she said, with soft bitterness. "I don't need..."

He gently put a finger to her lips. "No, baby – you _do _need," he said, a tear running down his cheek as he looked down at her, his expression obviously pained. "Baby...we have to get you better..."

She turned away. He swallowed and slowly walked out.

* * *

Mark was driving Joanne's car through the countryside, and she sat in the passenger seat, staring blankly out the window. _So they're going to lock me up, _she thought bitterly. _Me, always the sane, logical one of the group...they'd shut me up because of some little problem...it's nothing compared to Mimi's problems, she's still on heroin..._

But it didn't really matter anymore.

The mental atrophy that went along with this kind of submission is what killed her. She felt her internal deterioration as she thought of letting herself go into the care of these incompetent nurses...this was not the life she had planned on...

About 30 minutes outside the city, Mark pulled the car into the parking lot of Clear Springs Hospital. With a last regretful glance at his lover, he got out of the car and got her bags out of the trunk, making his way into the facility. With one last breath of freedom, she followed him inside the building.

There was paperwork, piles of endless paperwork, and there were rules, and there were countless other things that she tuned out. All Joanne could focus on was the warm and comfort of Mark's hand holding her's. He ran his thumb over her finger lovingly as he did everything he could not to cry as they parted...

"Don't leave me," she whispered desperately as he held her, saying their goodbyes...

His eyes closed as he hugged her tighter, wishing with every fiber of his being that he could comply, that he could stay with her or take her home..."I can't, baby," he said softly.

She nodded, pulling away. "I know," she breathed regretfully. "I...come visit me, Mark. A lot."

"You know I will, honey..."

"Promise."

"I promise I will. Promise me you'll try, Jo."

She looked away. "I'll try to try," she said with a rueful smile. "That's the best I can give you."

He embraced her again, knowing their time was so close to being over..."I love you, Joanne," he whispered as his blue eyes filled with tears.

"I love you too," she replied softly as their lips met in a gentle kiss. He pulled away and with one last look at the too-thin woman, he was gone.


	18. Meet Erin

**I'm Fine**

_Chapter 18 - Meet Erin_

Joanne followed the obnoxious nurse to a room, seeing the bare, industrialized bunks, already hating this place with a deep vengeance. The woman was talking again, in that same annoying, babying voice that Joanne couldn't stand. She was a full-grown, successful businesswoman for god's sake, and she was being treated like some anorexic teeny-bopper who simply needed a nurturing, maternal figure in her life, and she did not at all appreciate that fact.

"Now, you'll have a roommate," the lady continued. "Her name is Erin, and she is here because she, too, has eating problems." Joanne rolled her eyes. _This is the eating disorder wing of a rehab - why else would she be here? _"She has been here a few months, so she'll be able to help you if you have any questions. Now, everyone else is in the night group therapy session right now, which you'll start tomorrow, but if you need anything, come see me up at the desk, dear." And with that, the nurse finally waddled out of the room.

Joanne took a deep breath, looking at her dismal surroundings, and quickly began unpacking and making the room seem as right as she could make it. She immediately began placing pictures everywhere - a snapshot of Roger and Mimi, of Angel and Collins, one more recently of Collins with Maureen, of Mark on a table, of Roger with his guitar, of Mark with his camera, of all of them together...

She unwrapped her favorite picture, nicely framed, of her and Mark together outside at the park, his arms flung around her wildly. She's looking at the camera with a slightly apologetic, slightly smirking expression, but both them looked as happy as can be.

She couldn't but smile as she looked at him, at them in those beautiful days of peace and bliss. She sat down on the bed and her mind was flooded quickly by everything that had happened lately.

It was true, she had come a little closer to serious injury or death than she had planned on. She had gone overboard, and her body had reacted to that. Maybe Mark and the rest were right - maybe there was something truly wrong with her, maybe she did need help. Maybe she wasn't as in control as she liked to think she was...

But these thoughts were foreign and revolutionary. _There's nothing I can't control,_ a side of her object angrily, _I am in perfect authority. I'm Joanne Jefferson, goddamn it! I'm fine._

A bitter tear ran down her face. If she was fine, then why exactly was she here?

The door opened, and a young girl entered the room shyly. "Hey," said the girl uncomfortably. "My name's Erin," she said, offering a skeletal hand.

Joanne shook it, looking at the shrunken, tiny girl who must have been about seventeen, although her size would imply closer to a twelve-year-old. "Joanne Jefferson," she replied.

"They say you're in here for bulimia?" Erin said, laying down on her bunk.

"In a way," Joanne replied guardedly, wondering vaguely who _they _were.

"Hmm...I'm the anorexic," she laughed. "Not _an _anorexic, but _the _anorexic. I'm supposedly the smallest girl they've ever had here."

Joanne nodded unsurely, wondering why exactly this girl was telling her this.

"But you know the part that's fucked up?" continued the girl. "I can't tell the difference. I look in the mirror and I can't tell the difference between what I look like now and what I looked like when I weighed 175 pounds." She sighed miserably. "I can't tell the difference between a hundred pounds."

This girl had obviously spent a long time in therapy, Joanne decided, which was the reason she was opening up so much for no apparent reason. _This is insane, _the thought flew through her mind. _I would be doing more good counseling these girls than being treated with them. _

Erin looked around at her, spotting the pictures. "Can I look at them?" she asked curiously. Joanne nodded and the shadow of a girl made her way to the pictures, looking over each of them with a look of longing in her eyes, a longing for that life full of friends that she had undoubtably once known. She studied each picture without comment until she reached the photo of Joanne and Mark together. "He your boyfriend?" she asked.

Joanne smiled softly and nodded. "Yeah, that's Mark."

The young girl nodded. "He's cute," she decided. "I figured he must be your boyfriend, because you have about a thousand pictures of him..." She was grinning slightly before the expression was replaced by a look of bitterness. "I had a boyfriend when I first got here," she said, a numb quality sweeping over her features. "We were perfect together. Two weeks after I moved here, one of my friends told me he had been cheating on me for over six months."

The girl's story suddenly appealed to Joanne. "I understand that," she said softly. "A few months back, I found out that my ex-girlfriend was sleeping with someone else."

Erin looked up in interest. "Ex-girlfriend?" she asked. "Are you bi?"

"Something like that, yes."

She nodded. "Me too," she said. "People are always saying shit about it, too, like I should pick one and go with it, like I'm just curious. It gets old."

Joanne laughed. "I suppose so," she agreed. She wondered desperately if she could have some alone time, but quickly realized it wasn't likely. "I hope you don't mind, but I'm really tired...I think I'll go to bed now."

"Go ahead," Erin said quickly. "But I'll warn you, these mattresses make it fucking impossible to get a good night's sleep."

Unfortunately, Erin was all too right.


End file.
